An update on AIDs cat, and other stuff.

So in all likeliness, my cat has some form of auto immune deficiency. Exciting? I think not. My cat gets these sores on his paws, see, and they stay there for a while. The last time he got these kinds of sores, well the least two times, I took him to the vet where he received an antibiotic injection. I’ve taken him twice and the second time, his sores cleared up slightly, and then returned far more fierce. Recently we made a decision to keep him comfortable until necessary to put him down.

This being said, I asked my vet if there were any way it would be another ailment, if there was a facility that would be capable of performing the thousand dollar operation on Bagheera for research sake, and if there were any other solutions. He told me the cat definitely had an AID, that there weren’t any facilities like that, and that I could get steroids that could help his auto immune system. The vet did all of this quite haughtily, and before I could thank him for his time, he promptly hung up on me. I do not understand his  disdain and spite, considering that his actions, or lack there of, could have lead my cat to a quick and mildly painful death due to what I can only assume is his greed, as it seems clear he is not incompetent. Was it not I who would be justified to take blame in him, for not doing his job properly? All said, Bagheera’s sores have cleared on their own, or at least begun to.

*knocks on wood*

As of the coming Wednesday, I will no longer be employed by the company I am currently employed by but not allowed to state publicly, and thus I can talk about them all I like. HAH!

I’ve taken an interest in my artistic pursuits lately. Created a few fashion pieces, working on some musical arranging of a band show I keep telling myself I’ll get around to writing, and who knows, I may pick up some photography in the mean time. 🙂

There are gunfire noises coming from my living room, which means hubby is working hard to make deadlines of the nearly finished film. The next project is on the way, but I won’t leak anything as I’m not sure what is public knowledge and what is not.

Next Friday one of my best friends, and for all intensive purposes my brother, graduates from Marine Recruit Training. I could not be more proud of him. Nor of his courtier, who has made well of her time while he has been away and has not transformed into an undesirable puddle of emotional goop. Not that I thought she would. And I would know. After all, she’s my sister. Twin. Don’tcha know?

Okay, no, I do not have a twin sister. But Amy is as close to a sister as I will ever have. She and I come from similar familial structures: we are both the only girl of our siblings and both have two brothers. She has one brother on either side, mine are both older, but in sharing similarities in family and upbringing, school, etc, we get along like peas in a pod. [For some reason I wanted to say that we get along like peaches. Do peaches get along well? I would suppose they do.] But yes, my sister Amy. Love’er to pieces. Thoughts clouded my mind about what I should say at her wedding today. [Don’t ask me why. I suppose it’s the poet in me. The same part that always says, “let’s go to the park today, it’s so *insert current weather here*”.]

At current, I’m working on some costuming for the recent project upcoming, and chasing down some work at my old high school. What wonder that would be. Amy told me a few years ago I said the job would be a dream job. Certain…instances have indicated that I’m on the right path by pursuing it. I feel peace in the direction that I’m headed and have been show great provision. Indeed, words can not express how God provides.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s