An open letter

Dear Winter:

I fucking hate you.

You freeze my ass off, make my nose run most attractively, knock me off my feet with your cleverly hidden ice patches, and force me to do manual labour by dumping snow all over my driveway.

Year after year you intrude on both fall and spring, ruthlessly stealing months of pleasant weather for your own selfish glory.

What have I ever done to you? If I have mistreated you in any way, I apologize most sincerely. I would never wish harm on you, and I am sorry if you have interpreted my past words or actions as offensive. I didn't mean all those swears I said over the past couple decades.

Perhaps we could call a truce. You could stop beating my ass every fucking year, and I will buy some snow pants to frolic with you in the woods. Deal?

Lovingly,
Marsha

PS Fuck you.

Pet$

Pets are so expensive. It's the eyes, I swear. They look at you with those eyes, and before you know it you're coming home from "Christmas shopping" with dog toys and treats and goodies she just has to have, and you're talking like some kind of brain deficient because she's such a "cutie wootie oh look at her big paws I could just eat her right up for supper".

Tesla has turned out to be a fabulous little puppy. She enjoys learning new tricks, and has the ability to focus intensely for quite a while considering she's only 15 weeks old. Thanks to puppy classes and hours of work, she knows the basic commands of sit, down, and stand. We're working on stay right now, it's going slowly. She's not a fan of having to remain in one place for too long. Puppy energy.

She knows some tricks too, like speak, gimme 5, gimme 10, jump up, off, shake a paw, and drop it. Some of them will be useful in preventing her from eating things she's not supposed to, like loose change off the floor, or the cat, but most of them are just fun.

She's at the point now where sometimes she'll just try doing tricks without the command, just to see if she can get a treat. It's pretty funny. She's too cute.

High five!

Yes!

Treat!

Cats are expensive too, as it turns out. Especially when they have problems with their penis.

A few days ago, Paul stood up on our bed and promptly started peeing. When I rushed into the bedroom to stop him, I saw there were only a few drops of pee on the bedspread, not a big puddle. He had also been rather fatigued for a few days prior. Tesla had a vet appointment that night to get her final round of shots, so we decided to call the vet later that day and see if we should take Paul in at the same time.

At work, I called the vet at lunch time and told her what had happened. Her response was along the lines of "Your cat might die at any second". Turns out, male cats can often be susceptible to urinary blockage, especially those fed exclusively dry food, like Paul. Urinary blockage can be rapidly fatal, as toxins cannot be expelled from the body and kidney failure is nothing to sneeze at. Sooo, I rushed home in a panic and drove the poor kitty to the hospital. He had to stay overnight with a catheter up his noodle. He came home the next night with an arsenal of drugs, bloody paws, and an extremely nice attitude toward us.


I figured he was being so nice due to the drugs mellowing him out, but I wasn't complaining since not getting bitten in the thigh hard enough to draw blood when all I'm trying to do is get into bed is how I like to live my life.



So, the brave little soldier gets 6 pills and 2 shots of liquid shoved down his throat every day, and has to eat a prescription diet of canned food which he hates. This morning though, he attacked my ankles as I walked up the basement steps and I was overjoyed. A massive vet bill later, my kitty is back to his old self. I wouldn't have the little asshole any other way.