150 thousands clams worth of designer clothes. Damn baby, you done good! I expect that they won't end up donating quite all of them to charity...hell, if they lose she oughta' get to keep 'em. Consolation prize, you know? Not like she'll ever be running for any national office ever again, anyway. Hopefully, that ship will soon have sailed.

Also, OMFG, "Quarantine." New movie with the super cute girl from "Dexter" in it. SCARY AS FUCKING HELL, DUDES. Seriously. Just ask Ashley. And before you say, yeah, whatever, Ashley's a huge chicken*, I already know that. What I'm saying is Ashley almost fainted, and I was just about scared out of my pants. TWICE. Which ought to be just about enough recommendation for anyone.

Today I took my FosterMonster, Frank the Manly Kitten (with Giant Fuzzy Balls), back to OHS. We (I) considered adopting him, but in the end it seemed like a better plan to just bite the bullet and let him be his own Frank with his own life. We took good care of him (his weight has almost tripled in the month that he's been with us and his coat is soft and shiny...he's a cutie, there's no denying it) and now it's time for him to go his own way. I know that he'll find a great home soon, but I just can't help feeling bad about it.

The thing is, Frank fucking hates OHS. He doesn't appreciate all that they've done for him. A rank bastard, that Frank.

He's been back once before, when it turned out that he was still too stuffed up to get altered. He's had a hard time completely shaking his case of URI, and the minute that they saw him sneezing yellow snot they immediately placed him in ICU (inadvertently exposing him to panleukopenia, or feline distemper, for which ICU is currently quarantined...yikes!) and called me to come take him back into foster care. When I came to get him at the end of my shift, it was immediately apparent to me that Frank was, in a word, pissed.

He didn't eat all day. He refused to use his litter box. He just lay curled up in a ball in his kennel and hissed at everyone. When I pulled him out to put him back in his little takeout box (heh) he gave a parting snarl to the other sick cats in ICU (hardly a threatening bunch, I'll tell you) and then growled at me. When I got him home he instantly ran over to the litter box and then proceeded to eat about a pound of food. And he was still out of sorts for the rest of the evening, growling his teeny little Frank growl at the rest of the household and stalking around with his feather boa, daring anyone to touch it. I felt terrible--the whole experience had really shaken him up.

In the past week he'd taken to sleeping curled up in the crook of my shoulder, and I was really dreading bringing him in today. I know that he'll just take time to adjust, but it pains me to drop him off someplace that he thinks is terrible for no reason that he can discern. Poor little guy. As soon as I turned the corner into the cattery he knew what was up. He started making this very strange noise, a sound that I've never heard him make before (even in the depths of battle with his kitten-nemesis, Neutrino). It was like a little angry howl. When I put him in his kennel he was beside himself, he swished around and snarling and hissing. When I put a little cat hotel (cardboard boxes that they can hide out in for an extra sense of security) he growled at it. My former supervisor walked in at that point and asked if I was bringing in another spoiled foster brat and I was forced to admit (amid his yowls) that indeed I was.

I've taken him for numerous vet appointments, he's had his temperature taken and his belly prodded, he's had more medicine shoved down his throat that you can imagine, and yet he's always taken it in stride. This level of sputtering contempt is very unlike Frank, he's a sweet little guy. It makes me wonder what kind of histrionics we'd have to put up with if we tried to return Neutrino to OHS. After all, having his temperature taken was such an indignity that he bit the crap out of W and drew blood the last time we tried it. Impressive, for something that was severely dehydrated at the time and weighed less than 2 lbs. Now when I take him to the vet I basically have to lay him out (the technique we use for drawing blood) as a precaution. I'm sure the vet thinks I'm completely nuts.

In any event, hopefully Frank will only be at OHS for a few days. He's on the schedule to be altered tomorrow morning (goodbye Great Fuzzy Balls!), and then he'll be available for adoption starting Saturday night. I'm going to visit him tomorrow, but if his performance this afternoon was any indication, that probably won't be as touchingly sweet as it sounds. Maybe he'll calm down when he's all drugged up. That's definitely when I should schedule my visit.

Actually, that's when I should schedule all of my visits. With everyone.

*Sorry Ash, it's true.