Cat Vomit, 3am

Nobody who has to work the hours I do should ever find themselves woken up by the sound of a cat vomiting on their bed ON THEM at 3am.

Now faced with trying to fall asleep in a room that reeks with the processed meat stench of cat puke. This is the second time this has happened in two days. Not impressed with kitty. Kitty broken. Very very worried that Wesley might be dehydrated and really sick.

Wish there was an all-night clinic that I could take her to. Might take the morning off work to go to the vet if Ed has orientation obligations. Damn I’m tired. Graham Roumieu’s visual interpretation of Bigfoot’s feline problems, “You shitty cat, Craig” has never felt so relevant or so true.

You shitty cat, Wesley. Need sleep, NOT vomit.

Sauron = Rasta? Voldemort = Republican!

Today’s amusing webcomic: GOATS!

So I’ve spent the past few days in obsessive-compulsive bliss. Wading through the bottomless pile of comics I bought at the convention. Eating whatever delicious meals my live-in chef, Ed, decides to entice me with. And cleaning. So. Much. Cleaning. Cleaning in anticipation of my roommate coming home from Cancun, my other roommate revamping the kitchen, and the arrival of a sick foster cat from the Humane Society.

At first it was just sweeping the steps. Then mopping seemed like a good idea. A few hours later, Ed strolled by, cocked his head over the railing and almost passed out from the fumes. I’d cracked open a can of Circa 1880, grabbed a bag of steel wool and a power sander, and started to have a go at stripping the nine layers of cracked oil paint befouling my stairwell. I don’t know what came over me, but I think I’d like to place some of the blame on Bob Vila, Debbie Travis, and my mother’s addiction to HGTV.

The new cat, Wesley, is terribly, terribly skinny. I didn’t want to be picky, so I just asked them to give me the animal most immediately in need of a foster home. They gave me a young female, post-surgery, who has clearly been on the street, making a living as a punching bag for other cats. Her tail’s been broken in at least four places and she’s got a really bad-ass necklace of scars and lacerations behind her ears. Unfortunately, I’ve started sneezing a lot lately, and I think Wes may be the culprit. Also, she shows her love by sleeping on my head. Harrumph.

Speaking of skinny creatures: during a slothful Monday viewing of the Two Towers, my friends and I indulged in some casual running commentary about Gollum being recruited as a poster-child for why the Atkins diet is just so damn effective. This has resulted in me giving some serious consideration to reducing my protein intake. We then segued into a really bizarre speculation about whether or not Sauron is a chronic pot smoker. Some good arguments were made on the evidence of his seriously bloodshot eye, unfortunate paranoia, and clear case of the munchies, but personally I think he’d be a lot more laid back about trying to conquer Middle Earth if he were sweet on the mary jane. Yeah, yeah, I know. Mystery Science Theatre, we ain’t.

As a completely unrelated aside, I must once again express my intense dislike of Rebecca Eckler and her woefully ignorant, badly written, sorry-assed columns. Yesterday, she waxed not at all poetically about the Toronto Science Fiction Convention. Why her editor thought to give her this assignment, I can’t fathom. Her vapid, too-cool-for-school nature aside, she has no knowledge whatsoever of science fiction culture, and no desire to learn. She can’t even mock them in a biting, caustic fashion. Given my own personal celebrity wrestling match, she would be top of my dream opponent list. Maybe not while pregnant, since she’d have a weight advantage, and I’d have to pull my punches on account of baby, but post-partum – it’s on like Donkey Kong, beotch.

FYI, for those of you that are fence sitting about going to see “American Wedding,” take the plunge. I went this weekend with Darren and almost ruptured something during Stiffler’s gay bar dance-off scene – Seann William Scott is worth the price of admission.