Still Life

The castle rises from a field of green, soaring above the soldiers patrolling its outskirts. Its walls are a uniform shade of grey speckled with darker tones that stand out garishly against the plain background field. Small arched windows have been set in the walls, and above them, archers patrol the battlements. Where castle meets ground is green plastic speckled with raised dots, anchoring the mighty walls in place, and likewise the soldiers, forever half a step forward but never quite completing it; Sisyphus with a fixed plastic smile. They grip halberds and swords and wear helmets and breastplates, but their legs have no knees and their belts are painted on. The archers on the walls carry their bows but cannot hold them properly, let alone aim them. Aiming is difficult without wrists or elbows or even proper shoulders. Their leader has a red beard over his smile and a plastic feather on his plastic helmet. He rides a black horse and carries a long lance with a flag on the end; a crown of fluttering red and yellow. Beard and flag and lance and feather make a leader of men. In the distance is the invading army. A ninja rides a Tyrannosaurus Rex and marshals his troops – a slinky and three spacemen and a giant robot and Moses in a convertible. His beard is a plastic rictus. His tablets are in the passenger seat.

Big Gaping Chest Wound

I'm convinced that the medicinal regimen that the veterinarian put Sadie on is in fact a subversive psychological experiment to see how long it will take before my cat tries to rip my eyes out via my nostrils.

On Monday night I noticed that she had a wound on her stomach. I'm not talking about a scratch or anything like that. I'm talking a skin-flapping, gut-churning, glistening thing that could have fit a silver dollar inside.

Gross. Gross.

So I took her into the vet Monday morning and of course they want to run a blood test. Just because she was running a fever and had a gaping chest wound. The nerve of the guy.

Anyway, twice daily I have to clean the thing out, then slather some goo on it from another bottle. Then, because my cat refuses to eat the hollow fishy treats that are supposed to hold her pills, I get to shove a turkey baster down her throat and inject the damned thing right into her throat.

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This is probably the third or fourth attempt in my life to start a blog. But these blogs are run by our benevolent Google Overlords, so I have faith that I'll be able to keep it up for a while.

I've also got a lot of thinkin' time at work so that's a help.