Bruinhilda's · Box

          I just couldn't get up the enthusiasm to watch the kittens-only episode last week. It's edited and waiting on my hard drive. And this morning's is currently converting. It should be ready in about a half-hour. I figure sometime later tonight I'll actually watch the pair of them. Neither look all that thrilling, though. Ah well. Next week's title looks promising.
          It's cleaning time again. This means going through my stuff to see if there's anything I can stand to part with, in the hopes of reducing things to the point that I don't have to store stuff in piles on the floor. I started by taking about 10-15 pounds of Young King OURS to Book*Off. They were expensive, and I was hoping to get spending money for them.
          Stupid me should have realized; they're 5 years old, the store doesn't want them. I ended up leaving them to be tossed, because I didn't want to carry them back on the bus. I got $6 for a DVD and three volumes of B.P.R.D., though. And I have two feet of shelf space from the tossing. (Which is already filled up, but hey, things look nicer.)
          The two bags I took all those manga mags in are being filled again. One is for books and such that don't meet used store standards for buyback; these will go to the far less picky Friends booksale room. The other is for items that might get a buck or two at Book*Off or Jelly's. The bag system seems to work well with me. Often, I put stuff in there that I'm unsure about, but after a few days sitting in the bag, I usually decide that I don't miss them on the shelves, and I would be happier with the space rather than the items.
          Of course, there's the far more productive, "throw that shit right the fuck out," system. I try to do this with broken things, ripped clothes, and other bits of trash. You'd think that would be easy, but I have certain hoarding instincts. And one of the things I have to stay on top of is my natural tendency to say, "well, I can still use this for this, that, or the other, and wouldn't it be cool to do this project with these bits...?" You might recognize that as the excuse of every single cluttered lifestyle person to keep something that will never, ever be used again. Because there's never time or energy for those projects. But all the same, you don't want to waste stuff. If it's somethine you spent money on, and underused? That's so much worse. Still, I've gotten much better at it. I try to make a habit of throwing something away every time I happen across one of my piles. My important stuff tends to be in drawers or on shelves. A lot of pile stuff is junk. Even if it didn't start out that way, leave it exposed to the decaying forces of this house long enough, it becomes that.
          The various e-readers have actually helped keep the clutter down. My magazines are all through Zinio now. It's cheaper, and it means I don't have any physical stacks. I've started getting Dark Horse comic books that way as well. Not that I decline a hardcover omnibus edition of something I really like, it just means I don't spend $18 on a trade and then another $30 when the multi-volume hardcovers come out.
          And I suppose it's time to start going through the drawers, see if I can't clean one or two out. I certainly don't have the space to put more storage in, so stuff has to leave instead.
          Someday, I will get "stuff" right...

          Been a tiring week for a number of reasons. Glad it's over.
          I'm also glad to have gotten the last splinter out of my fingers. You see, yesterday I was pulling bits of this, that, and the other from behind my keyboard shelf. Mostly little notes that got shoved off by napping cats. And while running my hand back and forth to see if there was anything left...I got jabbed. Multiple times. By a piece of Christmast decoration. My mother had this angel for the top of the tree. Cardboard, with wings made out of hundreds of little fiberglass/plastic type rods. It's very pretty. But it's also very old and falling apart. All those little glass rods are breaking. By rights, I should throw it away. It's too fragile to put on the tree, and it's beyond repair. But it was Mom's, it was special to her, and Dad's not willing to part with it yet. One of the stars fell off, with a chunk of broken wing tubes. I couldn't do anything with it, but was reluctant to just throw it out. Even though when it broke off, it gave me a couple of splinters from hell. And that's what was lying behind my keyboard.
          I don't know how many splinters I got. Two fingers were involved, but I think most of them popped right back out again. And I'd thought I'd gotten the rest, until I went to bed and brushed the splinter against the sheet.
          Do you know how painful these things are? I've gotten wood splinters and thorns that had to be dug out with pins that didn't make me jump like this. Those little glass rods feel like they're jabbed right into the nerves, never mind how thick of a callus they might be stuck to in reality. I've been trying on and off to find it and get it out all day. Finally, while squeezing the area, there was an intesne jab of pain, and then there was 3-5 milimeters of white glass/whatever sticking out of the side of my finger. No wonder the thing hurt so damn much!
          The star's still back there, though. I'm planning to just pull the keyboard shelf out and use the brush and dustpan to dispose of it. I'm not sticking my fingers back there until I know the sucker's gone.

          Yes, I'm a week late. I had real-cat concerns last weekend, and though I got to see the episode last Sunday night, I didn't have the energy to blog-blither (blother?) about it until now. ( Cut for Spoilers )

          There were no problems today. I called, and was instantly told she was ready to come home. A meowing box was given to me, one that quieted down completely when the car started up. Once home, we let her out to wander (under my watchful eyes.) Because of the pain medication, she's spent a lot of it just dozing. Currently she's napping on the boat tarp, so I've taken a break. She's got another dose of painkiller due in 45 minutes, and antibiotics two hours after that.
          And I have just been introduced to two of her mother's four new kittens. Neighbor M found them and brought the two that look like Fluff and Mochi over in a beer box. He says the other two are black like their mother. *sigh* I can hope we can find people to adopt this time.

          Mochi can't come home tonight. Although everything went well, and her bloodwork is clean, she'd only just come out of the anesthesia when I called. Because of liability issues, they're keeping her overnight (for free) to monitor her and make sure she comes out of it all right. The doc comes in at noon tomorrow; I'm supposed to call after 12:30 to see if she's cleared Mochi for release. *crosses fingers and prays madly*
          So while I don't have to keep an eye on her overnight, I'm going to be wibbling and fretting. Because I've had terrors since I made the appointment. Terrible thoughts about something horrible going wrong, a botched surgery, a bad reaction to the anesthesia. About an hour before calling, I suddenly became convinced that they would tell me she had Feline Leukemia. (Hence my priority in asking about her pre-op bloodwork.) So of course, in spite of my reporting what the vet said to everyone in the most reassuring of tones, I'm actually convinced that when I call tomorrow, they'll report something horrible, like she stopped breathing and died in the night. I tell myself to be calm and reasonable, but you can't convince a brain prone to paranoia. Something Went Wrong, it says. Something Else Will Go Wrong Too. The very reasonable assumption that a 5lb kitten is more likely to need a longer recovery time from anesthesia than a 15-20lb cat cuts absolutely no ice with my brain. It's already busy rehearsing What We'll Have To Tell People when the horrible news is given tomorrow.
          Not a very restful weekend, is it?

          The kitten named Mochi, that is. There has been considerable stress among the humans here about the possibility of more kittens. Especially since Mochi's mother is nursing another hidden litter. (She got knocked up again while she was still nursing the first.) Since Mochi is a girl, getting her fixed is considered a priority. Since nobody seemed to have any time to actually get it done, I ended up making the appointment myself. She is currently at Animal Care Foundation, hopefully well into her post-op recovery. We're to call at 6pm, and make sure she's ready to come home. Hopefully we'll have her back here by 7.
          Getting her ready and there was actually the hard part. She had to be fasted the night before. This meant confining her, something that's never happened to her before. I tried to make it as easy as possible on her. First, I snagged her at dinnertime and shut her in my bedroom with her food, water, and a litter pan. She was quiet, so I didn't go up and check on her before I went to bed at 9.
          Turns out being alone freaked her out more than being shut in. I found her hiding at the top of my closet, audibly meowing. Her normal meow makes no sound at all, and she was sounding a little hoarse when I coaxed her back down. She hadn't eaten either. I ended up having to sit with her and the dish to get her to eat.
          Once she had company, she was all right. She cuddled up on top of me in bed, and discovered the joys of pouncing on feet moving under the covers. I put the catfood dish out, and went to sleep.
          I woke up around about 4am, because someone was biting and clawing my feet, and the covers didn't seem to be doing much in the way of protection. This turned out to be because Mochi is extremely smart, and discovered both how to burrow under the heavier covers, and how to fling them off of her target. So she was getting at my feet through a thin sheet.
          Both feet are well-marked now. Dad says she's gotten her revenge in ahead of time.
          Morning brought a new round of kitten stress, as Mochi wanted food, out, and dirt to relieve herself in. It took a little coaxing to get the idea of the litterbox across to her. Food and out we couldn't do anything about. By the time I'd gotten dressed, she was pretty frantic. With three hours left to go. Fortunately Suprrr was meowing outside the door. I grabbed Mochi and let him in, and they spent the next couple of hours pouncing on each other. And my feet, again.
          For the last hour I put her in the carrier with a blanket and stuffed toy, and put the carrier outside so she could get the breeze. That seemed to calm her down some. Of course, she mewed all the way to the vet's. Can't blame her, this must have been an incredibly scary day for her.
          There's been no emergency phone call from the vet, so hopefully that means everything's all right. I won't calm down until I actually have her, though. I'm currently planning to keep her inside for the night. Even though the vet uses dissolving sutures, I want to make sure all is well and that she doesn't injure herself.
          Hopefully she'll forgive me for the trauma. Eventually. And hopefully they've found nothing terrible in the pre-op bloodwork. I won't stop wibbling until this is over and all is well again.