Every morning, Lowrider and I go through the same routine: she goes to the front door employing the meow I recognize as demanding, "I want to go outside!" If I try to ignore it, even if for only a couple of seconds mind you, or if I hiss at her or tell her no, she starts clawing the chair, ripping up the tassel that hangs from the doorknob, and jingling the bells that decorate the door. When I finally give in, get up, and open the door, she sticks her head out looking around, and plops her hairy ass down. She'd do that for several minutes if I let her and all of the heat inside the house would escape. Then she looks up at me as if I'm supposed to do something about the freezing weather just for her. If I push her outside, she stands howling to get back in and if I don't, the routine continues on and on ad nauseum. Invariably I have to get up several times, and in my perturbation I trip over my laptop's power cord, ram my toe into the end of the bed, and nearly kill myself on the desk chair. Right now, with this concussion, my vision isn't so great when I first wake up and I feel a bit too disoriented to play this game...Why do cats do this!?
This evening I will pass the critical 72-hour point since I played head-butt with a corner of the antique clock. I'm still not feeling great and that kind of worries me, but really, what can I do?
No medical insurance + no money =
welcome to the American Dream.
See that part that projects out from the clock? That's what clocked me. It, however, seems no worse for the wear. The worse part is the intermittent nausea that nothing, not even my trusty Zantac or Tagamet, fixes. At least it could snow while I'm sitting here in this bed. Outside, it looks like it should snow, but all we're getting is a mournful drizzle.
And now the cat's out there yowling to be let in. Sigh.
