Getting Sick Of This

The problem with having a sick cat is the same one you have with a sick one-year-old: communication.

You can't, for instance, say "You really need to take this pill, because it's going to make you feel better. So, no, you can't just refuse to have it. It's important."

Or "Honey, you really should eat your dinner. I know you're not very hungry, but it really is a good idea to eat something. You'd feel so much better."

Or "No, we can't go home. The doctor is a nice man who's going to see what's wrong with you. So please stop shrieking like that. We really do have to be here."

Or "Darling, if you're going to keep vomiting, could you maybe stay off the carpet? Linoleum is so much easier to clean."


Actually, you can say all of those things. But you'll still be left with a tiny person who doesn't understand you, being terribly upset about how awful they feel.


(Other similarities between sick cats and sick kids include owners/parents getting no sleep, and the house smelling of vomit and wee - but it's the communication thing that's the killer...)

Oh dear.

...and, in the ongoing saga of Mez's drink-related issues at work,

I MELTED MY DRINK BOTTLE

By accidentally filling it, not with cold filtered water, but with the next tap, which has boiling water.

It now has interesting ripples down one side, a no-longer-curved other side, and several dents from where my fingers were holding it at the time.


*facepalming into the next century*