Sunday Afternoon OR I Should Write a Blog But I'm Pooped OR Random Crapity

He is smiling but I suspect the cat isn't.

So recently I had a writer's block.  I unblocked.  Now I'm halfway done with Deadsville, my next novel and paranormal mystery/urban fantasy/unable to categorize.  Let's just say that the heroine does die in the book.  (How many authors can say that?)  But in this case, that's where the story begins.  (The fictional story, that is.)

Again, I've taken the opportunity to put
random lols in my blog just
because they amuse me.

Then we started feeding two feral cats.  (Nice transition there.  Halfway done with novel about dead heroine - feeding feral cats.  It flows.)  The moron cat - the cat of my daughter - sits on the enclosed porch and watches the feral cats.  The feral cats have figured out that Megaroy is a big pussy and is no threat to them.  But apparently their fleas are because one day HIM, the man to whom I'm married, was scooping the poop, and found, da da dah, worms.  Seriously gross.  You haven't lived until your pet has worms.  We have an inside cat who got worms from eating a flea that he got through a screen door from feral cats.  (This is something I would have been ever so glad to have not learned in my lifetime.)

This cat looks like a tribble, a drugged tribble.

Off to the vet with the cat.  I dodged that bullet by going camping with our daughter and girl scouts.  (Upon reflection, I would have rather taken the cat to the vet.)  One $250 bill later, we're instructed to catch the feral cats, feed them medicine, and also bring them to the vet.  I will do it, but the feral cats aren't like Megaroy.  They have little brains in their noggins.  Megaroy got his meds and his poop is now worm free.  But now he has to wear a collar.  HIM thought it would be funny to get him one with a bell.  I had no idea how much that cat prowls at night.  You hear jingle, jingle, jingle, coming up the stairs.  You hear jingle, jingle, jingle going from room to room.  You hear jingle, jingle, jingle, patrolling downstairs as he goes from window to window.  Then you hear jingle, jingle, jingle as I remove the bell and give it to HIM as something that made the cat wince.

See, there's kind of a theme here.

Anyway, the moral of the story is not to feed the feral cats anywhere close to where the moron cat hangs out at.  Also to never eat fleas.  Also never sleep in a room with 30 girl scouts without ear plugs and a sleeping pill, but that's a whole different blog.

Be all you can be.  Be a vet tech and stick things up cats' butts.