Trading One Cat Butt For Another

Who doesn’t love side effects from taking medication? Everything, it seems, has some sort of side effect. Have you ever listened to those medication ads on TV? Yikes! side-effects

But sometimes, we have to take the medication so we must deal with the consequences. As it is with me… I got new meds and a slew of new experiences.

My doctor gave me the medicine and a pamphlet of all the possible side effects and said, “You will probably be OK. Most of the side effects are rare.”

“OK,” I said. I took the prescription and had it filled.

I really don’t want to take the medicine, but I know if I don’t, my husband is going to bury me in a box somewhere. Well, maybe that is a little harsh, but I have been difficult to live with. I am not sure which is worse, the nightmares or the headaches. Poor John. I wake him up in the middle of the night with either screaming fits from the nightmares or retching sounds from the headaches. John needs his sleep just as much as I do. In addition to that, I’ve been kind of a downer. You know, kind of disheartened and disconnected.

cat-freud-therapyI saw a therapist for a while because I really didn’t want meds. I thought she might be able to figure out the source of my malaise and head pain. After a few sessions, she had the answer. She said my work was stressing me out and I should either find another job or get meds. So, here we are. On the meds.IMG_0493

I’ve been taking the “Don’t Be a Crazy Person” pills for about two months now. At first I didn’t feel much different, but then the side effects started up. I guess the pills are working because I really don’t care about the side effects at all.

I mean, the horns are barely noticeable if I poof my hair up a little. I have to be careful with hats though. I ruined my Wicked Weed hat last week (kind of ironic, right?) Maybe I can patch it.

I am still getting used to the tail. It’s only about three feet long and has a little furry tip at the end that my cat likes to chase. Just what I always wanted, my own built in cat toy. You have to admit, that is pretty cool.Devil Karen

Even though I am feeling a little bit better, my husband says I should increase my dosage. My nightmares are not completely gone and my stress level is starting to creep back up as are the headaches. I am considering it. Who knows, I might get a pair of leathery wings to go with my horns and tail. Won’t that be a hoot!

If you can’t kick the cat butt, just put horns on it and call it a day.

Karen

 

 

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Hidden Gems in a Cat Butt

This is truly accurate

This is truly accurate

I know this post is a bit late. For some reason, I don’t like anything I write lately. I’ve actually finished this blog post three times already, only to delete it because it lacked anything interesting. Let’s start with the title of this blog, “Hidden Gems in a Cat Butt”. The title is the most exciting thing about this page of words. It conjures up all kinds of images, right? Nuggets of smelly wisdom to be sure. Of course, I didn’t mean it literally. I was alluding to my running injury and some unexpected byproducts of that injury. My inability to trek across the neighborhood in Brooks shoes, a Nike Running Watch, and a no-brand visor left me seeking out alternate forms of exercise. So I tried yoga. Who knew I would like it so much? I never considered yoga because I didn’t think anybody could possibly get a good workout by twisting around like a schizophrenic pretzel. But, you can… or at least I can. There it is…a twisty Gem in a Cat Butt.

Pity Kitty

Pity Kitty

Even though I’ve been practicing yoga for a few weeks now, I still don’t quite fit in with the yoga crowd yet. My yoga outfit consists of a t-shirt, usually with a zombie reference on it, and some stretchy shorts. Everyone else has fitted yoga pants and crazy looking tops with holes, straps and strings twisting strategically around the boobs. Let me take this opportunity to say this only goes for the women. The men are generally shirtless, which is fine, because they would look extremely odd in a pink string thongy shirt thing. I think you have to be a black belt in yoga before you are allowed to wear such things.

I haven’t quite gotten the knack of the poses yet. My Downward Facing Dog is more like Mutt in the Mud, and my Half Moon Warrior is more like Jerky Scarecrow. At least I make the instructor laugh.funny-yoga

I am also slowly learning yoga etiquette too. For instance, during the cool off phase at the end of practice, we usually lie quietly on our mats with our eyes closed while meditating on our stretched muscles. It’s actually kind of nice…. until the guy next to you starts to snore. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, but tossing a wet towel in his face was how I chose to handle it. Did I mention that I have a hard time making yoga friends?

Also, another thing to keep in mind while in a yoga class is if you hear a fart-like sound, it’s always caused by something sliding on the mat. ALWAYS. No one ever really farts in yoga. Oh, and don’t laugh (out loud anyway).Funny-Yoga-05

All and all, I think I’m going to stick with yoga even after I get better and can run again. I can’t say I will give up my zombie t-shirts though. Some things are sacred.

I wish you inner peace and may these cat butt gems bring you enlightenment….. (I am trying to be Zen here, if you could not tell).yoga-cat-funny

 

Keep kicking the cat butts out of your way!

Karen

Ignored By My Physician — Say It Isn’t So!

Dr. Evil

Dr. Evil

It’s that time again – my annual physical! I know it is only once a year, but I start dreading it as soon as I make the appointment, which is about four months out. I’ve been going to the same doc since I moved to North Carolina. She has always been very attentive, asked a lot of questions, and spent time with me. After all, I only see her once a year. This visit was a little different; thus, I have a new name for her: Dr. Faster-Than-The-Speed-Of-Light. For whatever reason, she seemed like she was in a really big hurry. She glanced at my chart and proceeded to give me an exam that was quicker than an airport TSA screening . In about three minutes, she was finished, gave a dismissing nod toward my clothes piled on a chair, and pronounced me healthy enough to return to the general population. The problem was that I had a question about a particular pain I am having in my lower back.

I’m a rather healthy person, but from time to time, I get an ache or pain that needs more than Ibuprofen. For instance, a few months ago, I got a really weird bite on my hand. My knuckles swelled up so much it looked like I had Cremini mushrooms on the back of my hand. Not only that, it was painful, almost like getting your hand ground down into the dirt with an army boot, size 15. It turned out to be some weird bacteria that had invaded my hand through the bite wound and was trying to alter my DNA. Ok, maybe the DNA part isn’t true, but I had to take antibiotics and get a penicillin shot to kill it.

Never fun

Never fun

Anyway, the doc was about to leave before I could ask about my back pain, and she was moving fast. She took one step and her latex gloves were off. She took another step and her foot was on the trashcan pedal, the lid opening and her gloves dropping in. Somehow, she also had the water running in the sink and had a soapy lather going. By step three, she had already grabbed a paper towel with one hand and was turning the door handle with the other.

It was all happening too fast. If I wanted my doctor’s opinion on my back pain, I had to act. I launched myself off the table causing my paper skirt to fall to the floor. All I had covering me was the light blue exam gown, which didn’t conceal much more than my shoulder blades.

In mid-flight from the table, I yelled, “Wait! In hindsight, I think I might have said it too loudly, because her eyes, normally friendly and crescent shaped , opened up into large jawbreaker sized orbs in her head. My hair was in my face, so when I pushed it out of the way, I inadvertently got a sideways look at myself in the mirror. Yikes! I was a sight. My long, tangled hair was doing some weird medusa dance around my head; my exam gown was open in the front exposing all of my naughty bits right down to my toes. I was hunched over a bit (duh, my back hurt), and my stomach was growling like a mountain lion from not eating, a necessary evil for the usual blood work yet to come.

crazy

The crazy was showing a little bit.

The doc composed herself and her eyes shifted back to their normal, practiced, compassionate features and asked, “Was there something more?” From her tone, I could tell she wanted me to say “no” so she could go on with her day. This angered me a bit. After all, I was standing on a cold tile floor wearing an ugly blue exam gown that was barely clinging to my shoulders. To say I was a little miffed would be an understatement.

My stomach rumbled out one big ugly growl and I gave her a little smirk. I tend to get somewhat sarcastic when I am hungry. It was tough to fight back the urge to cock my head to one side, smile a big, toothy grin, and say, “I have a strange craving for BRAINS!” and then take a step toward her. But alas, I was able to keep it together. I like my doc, but I don’t think her sense of humor was working that day. Besides, I am pretty sure she could have me committed for 24 hour observation if she wanted to.

So, I calmly pulled the gown closed, straightened up a bit and said, “Yes, I need to ask about my lower back pain.”

She asked me a few questions, pushed around on my back a bit and told me to take some Ibuprofen and keep an eye on it. I was about to tell her that was what I have been doing for the past month, but when I turned around, she was gone. Damn. I should have gone with the brain-craving instead.

Pain

Did this just happen?

The good news is that my lab results came back and I have healthy blood. (Please don’t tell the vampire community.) The bad news is my back still hurts and my opinion of my health insurance is hurting as well. I am not entirely sure what to do now. The pain seems to be getting worse, so I will probably go for a second opinion pretty soon. It looks like I have a new cat butt in my life. Yay me.medium

Watch out this week; the cat butts seem to be on sneak attack.

Karen

Cat Drool, In-laws, Airports and Cannibals

Finally, a moment to myself after a hectic few days. My cat is even playing along and sitting beside me on her makeshift perch instead of traipsing all over me. I put a small square pet bed on top of my rolling file holder so she would have someplace other than my keyboard to lounge. If she isn’t on my keyboard, she is on my lap, which gets really uncomfortable after a while. It isn’t the constant kneading with her little claws that does it; her drooling is the kicker. She sits contently in my lap and purrs and drools all over my leg. Cat drool is just plain yucky and that is all there is to it, thus the invention of the file-holding cat bed next to my desk. Ingenuity is one way to kick a cat butt and keep your leg dry. You can quote me on that.

Cally Cat

Cally on her “stay-off-the-keyboard” bed

So, what kept me so busy? I took a trip to see my in-laws. If you are expecting to hear horrible in-law stories, this is going to be really disappointing for you. I don’t have any killer cousins in-law or loosey-goosey sisters in-law ; no, none of that here. I actually hit the jackpot when it comes to my husband’s family. They are the most fun loving group of people I have ever been around. Having in-laws you love and love to be around really makes things easier. I know lots of folks that have all kinds of extended family troubles and sure, it makes for great stories, but I would rather hear those stories than live them.

I don’t know if other writers do this or not, but when I am around people, I often wonder if they would make interesting characters in a story. Certainly there are some who I could base an entire book around. (Those folks are in MY family.) Sometimes, I like to pull out character traits from a few different people and mash them up into a completely new person. This person would most certainly have issues, lots and lots of issues.funny-crazy-people

Here’s the problem; I like to write stories that have a mix of horror, suspense, sci-fi, and humor. My in-laws gave me lots of humor, but not much of the other stuff (for which I am very grateful). Luckily, at least for my imagination, we got stranded in the airport for a while because of storms. Thus, I had lots of time in the airport to play with strangers. OK, that sounds a little odd. What I meant was I would pick a person at random and make up stories about them. Everybody does this, right?

For instance, when we finally boarded the plane, a middle-aged man caught my eye. He was about 5’ 10” and had brown hair. His hair was what made me first notice him. His meager strands of hair looked like they were made of wax. Although there wasn’t much of it, he had found a way to plaster down to his scalp in straight, chunky lines. The hair didn’t move and it had a dull sheen to it, not greasy, but almost tacky. He had a round doughboy face and wore little spectacles that were so tight, they cut into the tops of his cheeks and always seemed foggy. Maybe that is why he kept squinting. I call them spectacles instead of glasses because his eyewear had a sense of nostalgia to them; it just didn’t feel right calling them glasses. He wasn’t fat, but he wasn’t fit either. He was just sort of soft. His clothes didn’t help either. Beige corduroy pants, an off-brand beige polo-style shirt, and a faded old blue sweater didn’t do much for his image at all. I didn’t see his shoes because of my vantage point, but they were probably beige too.

Anyway, he had a Chick-fil-A bag with him. I assumed he picked up a chicken sandwich in the concourse before boarding. A lot of people pick up food to take on the plane with them to eat later, ever since the airlines started charging for cookies and chips. (Those bastards.)chick-fil-a

It wasn’t the bag that was unusual; it was what he did with it during the flight. The first time he opened the bag, I expected him to pull out a couple of those waffle fries that Chick-fil-A is so famous for, just for a taste. But he didn’t. He just looked into the bag for a few seconds, rolled it up, and set it on his lap with both hands on each side of it. I thought maybe he was not hungry yet. About 15 minutes later, he opened the bag again, looked inside, then reached his hand in, but didn’t immediately pull anything out. He fumbled for something and then stopped when he seemingly found what he was looking for, but he still didn’t pull it out. He just sort of fondled it inside the bag. OK, that was strange enough, but then he did it three more times! By now I am coming up with all kinds of stories about this guy and his bag. Perhaps he did have a Deluxe Spicy Chicken Sandwich and a large order of waffle fries in the white and red bag, but he could also have severed fingers in there too.

Finger Food

Finger Food (no fingers were truly harmed in the writing of this blog)

Yep, in my boredom, I came up with a story that this guy had killed and tortured some random soul back in the terminal restroom and taken his fingers as souvenirs. He hid the body in one of those giant trashcans the janitorial staff always leaves at the entrance to the restroom. I don’t know why they do that; maybe it gives the impression the restroom has been freshly cleaned. The dead guy, most likely a guy since it is a men’s restroom, won’t be found for hours because those cans sit there forever. Perhaps it will start leaking blood or producing a foul oder (eau de toilette of decomp) before someone will notice. Then I started thinking about it a little more; Doughboy could actually be a Dr. Hannibal “the Cannibal” Lecter want-to-be and is savoring the moment when he can eat the fingers with his sandwich. Fingers instead of fries? Hmmmm. He might be debating if he can sneak one into his mouth without being noticed. This must be sheer agony for him, being able to touch the savory little digits, but not being able to chow down.

I was having a lot of fun while Doughboy fiddled with his bag, but alas, I guess I will never truly know what was really in there, because once the plane landed and everyone shuffled out, I lost sight of him. Maybe he went straight to the men’s room, perhaps for an entrée to go with his fingerling appetizer.  (Sigh) Those are the breaks.

I am not going to ask you if you think this is normal or not. I am pretty sure it isn’t. Still, I can’t turn off my imagination. It just goes and goes, usually in dark and creepy directions. Yep, my imagination is the next best thing to reading books by Stephen King, Jim Butcher, Mark Tufo, and Jonathan Maberry. Perhaps reading these types of books perpetuates my somewhat sinister thought patterns, or maybe it is just natural.

One day, I will pen a book of short stories about the people I ‘enhance’. Maybe some of them might turn out to be actually true. (Cue the ominous music.)

Cat Wink

Cat butts are taking a beating this week, at least in my imagination.

Karen.