I read all my buddy-list diaries, even wrote in a few guestbooks, sat down to read the paper and got all settled in to watch Friends et al. and then remembered that somewhere along the way I forgot to write my own entry. Tsk, tsk, tsk.
So in true update fashion, here goes:
I think I've got the Cardiff hotel room settled. I got email and a message on my machine, but of course, by the time I found both when I got home from work and called back, it was already after 10 PM there, and the person I needed to talk to was probably home in bed or watching the telly. I'll confirm tomorrow morning before I go to school, which means talking to a living human other than the Hubs before 6:30 in the morning. I prefer to sit quietly with my fake latte and morning diaries at that hour, but so be it.
I spoke on the phone this morning with The Vet Who Knows What He's Doing, and am somewhat more encouraged about poor little Boo, who's coming home tomorrow from his sojourn at the cat hospital. While this vet confirms the diagnosis, he agrees that trying to provide cat-dialysis at home may not be the best thing for him, and that cats with what Boo has -- renal failure -- can live up to a year. And the treatment of the last few days may even stop the progress of it completely for awhile. So apparantly this vet and the other vet's understanding of the word terminal may not be quite the same. As for the cat living for another year, he'll be about 14 then. A long life for a pampered little regal-looking beast.
(Although he's still beautiful, I described him to the Sibs before as an "old-man cat". If he were human, he'd be wearing a belt and suspenders, and his pants would be pulled up to his armpits. He would also be just over five feet tall, and would wear those huge plastic-framed glasses. You get the picture.)
R is finally back online, first time since she left here two weeks ago. They were having trouble getting her computer connected to the university system over there, so she's been checking email at the computer lab, and that sporadically. All I can say is, it's amusing to receive expletive-laden email from one's children. Not that they were directed at me, or anyone other than the evil gods of the computing world, but I always get a kick out it; I don't know why.
My mother, while not a potty-mouth, was more than comfortable issuing the occasional expletive as soon as the Sibs and I grew up, and then again, when the grandchildren got grown. As with most of her quirks, they were all absolutely delighted whenever they had the opportunity to hear Grandma swear. You can imagine. My father, on the other hand, never swore. Never ever ever; I never heard him swear once. He said this was because his commanding officer during the war threatened all of his officers with immediate transfer to the infantry, front lines, if he ever heard them swear. Jack said he broke the habit then and there. This must have been the most unusual colonel in the American army.
I'm trying to eat very carefully, for health and other reasons. I'm freaking starving. Somebody email me a devil dog.
Please.
Thank you.
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I'm watching Friends
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Sweet Sorrow - 06.12.2007
So ... - 12.19.2006
Christmastime Is Near - 12.18.2006
Fifteen Years - 12.17.2006
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