Catnip Is For LosersOne Cat`s Viewpoint

All I can say is… oweee.

I came through my surgery this morning without a hitch. I ought to spare you the gory details, but that’s not my style…

One moment, I was sitting there wondering why the table was so cold; the next thing I know, I was asleep. When I awoke, my `hoo hahs` were gone and I was as sore as hell.

There. I said it. In the words of a Great American Human, “That’s all I have to say about that.”

The Big Guy said he was going to get me fixed but, I swear, I think that there was just more damage done. I couldn’t walk straight for several hours.

I am doing just fine now… didn’t even need any meds for the pain `cause, you know, catnip is for losers. (No, those pills are for a little intestinal malady that flared up a few days ago.) Had myself a big ol` bowl of food, too, since I hadn’t eaten a thing since last  night.

I am supposed to get plenty of bed rest and engage in no strenuous activity for a week. I got these silly Humans hauling me up and down the stairs! Life is good.

On the way to the vet, where this is the pressing question of the morning… should I “Live Tweet” my medical procedure?

It is approximately 12 hours before I go in for life-threatening, major surgery. I do not know what is being “fixed,” exactly. But whatever is in need of repair, tomorrow will not come soon enough.  I am going stark, raving mad.

I am wandering the hallways and yowling. I want to go outside, but do not know why. I sit on the bathroom counter and stare at the walls. I attack anything that moves… usually, the Girl Who Feeds Me. An involuntary cat toy, she has become. I climb on the furniture… I crawl under the furniture. I bite the furniture! Go figure…

I really have hit bottom, and here’s how bad it is…. I sneak into the bedroom of the Girl Who Has Catpan Duty and steal her “Polly Pocket” doll accessories… you know, the squishy little rubber hats and dresses and pocketbooks? I bring them downstairs to the slick kitchen floor and bat them around until the GWHCD takes them away.

Egad! A “manly man” like me…. reduced to playing with dolls! I am so ashamed…. and yet, weirdly excited.

Oh yeah…. and sometimes, I have gas.

The Big Guy has taken away the food bowl. The countdown has begun. Say a prayer for me, okay?

It’s rain on steroids, I tell you.  A million little cat toys, falling from the sky, and I am stuck inside.

Actually, the Big Guy opened the garage door while he, the Girl With Catpan Duty and the Girl Who Feeds Me (Occasionally) played with piles of cat toys. I opted to stay inside because, honestly, it looked like a hot, janky mess out there.

Is there such thing as a “cold janky mess,” ’cause it was a bit nippy out there.

I am just a couple of days away from my major surgery. I really have no idea what to expect. The Big Guy says that he is taking me to get “fixed.” I didn’t know that I was broken.

The Girl With Catpan Duty concerned me a bit with a comment that I overheard yesterday: “If they cut it off, will he still be able to pee?”

I don’t know what’s getting cut off… if anything… but I better be able to do everything afterward that I can do now. Otherwise, I will not be happy.

For the past two or three weeks, I have had a strange desire to flee from my Humans’ abode and explore the world. So far, my howling has only resulted in the Big Guy letting me run around in the garage.

I jump up and grab the doorframes. I have bloodied the arms of the Big Guy with bold sneak attacks while he works. I leap out to attack the legs of the Girl With Catpan duty. Last night, I chased the Girl Who Feeds Me.

I have an appointment with the doc next week to figure out what’s going on. ‘Cause I feel weird. Crazy weird.

Now that my odoriferous oral affliction is under control, I can devote more time to helping around the office. The Big Guy has assigned several responsibilities to me… for example, it is my job to sweep small, shiny stuff off of his desk and then bat it under the refrigerator where it will be out of the way.

The Big Guy is a small businessman (himself, not at all…) and can’t afford to hire an admin staff, much less a virtual “Girl Friday.” So it is the least that I can do to help the bottom line.

He’s got a great filing system…. he puts all of his receipts into a shoebox on the desk. Periodically, I compress the contents to make room for more. It’s a dirty job, but somebody has to do it.

Oops. I think I broke the box…. Maybe he won’t notice.