So. W broke his foot. The doctor apparently told him that he was really tuff shit for walking around on it for 3 million years before waltzing into urgent care and mentioning that "ahem," he might have broken his foot playing basketball.

Oh yeah, he finished the game. That's my man.

Seriously, he's awesome. Is it totally sick that the whole "incredibly high manly pain tolerance" thing makes me want to throw myself at him naked?

But, attractiveness aside, we now don't know what he's going to do about work. Perhaps this will turn into a pleasant six-week ski-booted vacation, minus the actual skis. Perhaps we will starve. Life is unpredictable.

Edgar's eye is better, thanks for asking. And we think (fingers crossed) that Neutrino may have finally turned the corner. His poor little kitten nose is still all stuffed up, but he's started going to the dry food on his own and drinking a little. All the force-feeding and eye meds and antibiotic drops have convinced him that people are, like, the worst things ever, especially when they're determined to save your life. So now he's trying to get Edgar or Lenore to mother him. They are not particularly interested in this. We'll see how it goes. On the upside, he is the most adorable kitten-skeleton in the world.

My job is going fairly well. I've learned to draw blood, administer vaccines, give meds, remove hissing cats from kennels, and my side project (as I've already mentioned) has given me ample experience treating sick kittens and turning them against mankind.

The other day one of my collegues was holding a cat (A NICE CAT, NOT ONE OF THE CRAZY SCREAMING ONES) and it turned around and bit her in the face. Not a little scratch, but completely through her lip up to her nose, necessitating 5 stitches. Apparently this job is dangerous.

Before I started working at OHS, I thought that dealing with cats every day would be kinda nice. I thought that all the crazy aggressive ones we incredibly rare and were probably euthanized on the spot. HELL NO. Nope, they come in to the shelter in herds. There are so many nice cats in the world...but it's the ones that throw themselves against the kennel door hissing and screaming, trying to EAT YOUR FUCKING FACE OFF that really make a lasting impression.

In other, completely depressing news, Zizek died last night. He was the sweetest rat I've ever known, and I miss him. Today I was thinking about how cute he was when he was a baby. I'd sit with him on my lap at the computer and he'd inch over until his head was under my hand, so that I could rub him.

THE DEATH TALLY 2008
1. Vitas
2. Lulu
3. Kitty Girl!?! (She disappeared a few weeks ago, my father just told me)
4. Zizek
5. Norman

My days off are Tuesday and Wednesday, Andrew. We should get together. You can tell me about how depressing the housing market is these days, and I will promise not to talk about cats. I dedicate this update to you, and your struggle.