My muscles are still kind of sore, but not as bad as they were yesterday.
The weather has shifted, so that might play a part, too.
But in other adventures today...
Kitten had an appointment at the vet.
He has had this rash/itchy stuff/sores on his neck and down his back to the base of his tail. It's been nasty, and I wanted to get it looked at before I get busy with school, so I made an appointment.
My cat does not like traveling.
He does not like motor vehicles, as far as I can tell, and he mightily resents his car carrier.
I brought it in from the shed and left it in the living room. Cat and dog both ignored it, as did I.
Kitten seemed particularly oblivious, lying near me in the kitchen as I worked on the computer, easily within reach should I suddenly decide to scoop him up and put him in the box.
Which, of course, I did.
That fucking cat grows extra arms and legs the minute he sees that travel case, I swear. Trying to stuff him into that thing is like trying to arm-wrestle an octopus. get his hind legs in and he's got a hold of the handle with his front claws. Detach his front claws from the lid, and his backside is out of the case again and making moves toward freedom. All the while he is whining piteously.
Eventually, I manage to stuff all of his arms and legs and one tail into the box and find my jacket. He begins to yowl.
And I don't mean little meows. No. He howls.
I watch to see that he does, in fact, inhale between the yowls.
I carry him out through the pouring rain to the car, where he settles in for some serious noise.
I call friends so they can share in my misery. To a person, they laugh. One friend actually hands her phone around the room so her family can hear my cat's complaints.
When I suggest to another that he might need a harmonica and a tin cup to bang on the bars, she says "I really don't think he needs a harmonica. No, not at all."
The volume of noise that can come out of a 13 year old, 15 pound cat is impressive. He is a formidable performer.
I grumble that if I ever find the person who taught him to yodel, there's gonna be hell to pay.
At the vet's office, still securely in his cage, he pees.
And not just an "ooh! the sniffing dog startled me!" kind of pee, but a "I am miserable and I am going to squeeze every drop out of my bladder that I can because then the humans (who are obviously to blame for this humiliating ordeal) will have to clean it up" kind.
Oh, he's a bastard.
So he dripped pee all over the exam table, the vet techs had to hose out his carrier and put in newspapers for the trip home, because now his fur was all soaked with urine (ew). The vet gave him a shot, stuffed him back in the cage -- with no more ease than I had managed earlier, it was gratifying to note -- I paid the woman at the front desk and we headed home.
Only now he was noisy and smelly. Ew.
I stopped at the grocery store for a couple things and to give genius cat a chance to bathe while I was inside. Came out and he's still yodeling at volume 20. Sigh.
Groceries in the trunk, and off we go home, cat screaming all the way.
By the time we get home, I have devised a plan.
I put the groceries away, leaving Kitten in his prison. He is silent, now. concerned about his future.
He had good reason.
I brought his carrier down the hall and into the bathroom. I grabbed a couple towels from the closet and stripped down. I turned on the water to let it warm up. I shut the bathroom door.
I opened the pet carrier and Kitten stepped out. I picked him up, opened the shower stall door, and he grew those extra legs and arms again. Holding him in a most undignified way, I got us both into the shower and shut the door.
He looked up at me and gave the most ear-splitting howl I've heard in ages.
I took the shower head spray gizmo, set it for a concentrated spray, and soaked him down.
He tried mightily to open the glass door. While he was reaching for the handle, I hosed down his tummy area.
He stepped on my foot to get a better purchase, I think. He sunk his claws purposefully into the flesh of my instep and reached as high as he could for the door handle.
Working hard not to scream, I reached down and carefully removed his foot from mine. The pain was intense. My world went white.
I realized I still had my glasses on.
he got lathered up with pet shampoo, then rinsed off and we got out. I toweled him dry for as long as he would tolerate it and freed him to the rest of the house. My foot throbbed for an hour.
We spent the rest of the afternoon sulking at different ends of the house.
Now I am going to soak in the hot tub, and head to bed early. I may sleep with one eye open so the cat does not rip out my throat in the night.