if you could see me right now, you'd either be telling me that blogging should be the least of my worries, or you'd understand the warped sense of dedication i have to my blog after six years of chronicling my whacked-out life online and would be laughing at me. just shaking your head and laughing.
today was a wonderful day at work. it was a wonderful day, period. i slept in, woke up in *sy*'s arms, went home and took a bit of a nap. i treated myself to lunch before going in to work, as i had the closing shift and had the time. my dad called to confirm what we're having for my celebratory birthday dinner on sunday: dhaal (which i've been seriously craving for weeks), a lamb dish for everyone else (of which yes, i will sample a little so i don't feel like i'm spurning my dear daddy's effing awesome cooking), some sort of cucumber salad, and dessert. at least, i think dessert.
today was a great day at work. everyone was cheerful, i was in a great mood. one of the managers from the tigard store stopped in, as he does from time to time, so i got to say hi to him. and, once again, he asked me when i was going to just transfer over to tigard, it's much better there, anyway? i laughed, but it feels good. they love me in tigard. they liked me at the gresham store, too.
i didn't have any appointments in my 3:30 slot, so instead i did some deep cleaning in the back. i moved the kennels away from the walls and cleaned behind them and beneath them, and then i called back some customers and tried to set up future appointments, filled in missing gaps in some dogs' info, etc. it was great. stuff that needs to get done but never does because we're so dang busy finally had a chance to get done.
then the manager lady asked me to help her groom a kitty. it was a lion cut on a smoky grey persian, what we lovingly refer to as "smooshy-face kitty" in the salon. the kitty was on his back, and i had hold of his forelegs. the manager lady had hold of one hind leg, and was shaving his belly.
well, kitty had something to say about that.
at first it was just a bit of whining and squirming, but that's nothing new. even the nicest kitties will sometimes protest at the lack of dignity we offer them as we splay them spread-eagle on the table and shave 'em nekkid. then was a bit of hissing, and once or twice he wiggled and tried to go after the manager lady, clearly with "die, bitch!" on his whiskered, kitty lips.
then came the feline four-letter words and, lemme tell you, this cat cussed like a wagon driver. i turned to the bather that was standing nearby, chuckling with us at the poor kitty's demise. "cover your ears, my child," said i.
oh, such famous last words were never spoken.
kitty lunged for my hand. now, something about persians. their faces are so freakin' flat that, most of the time when they go to bite you, they bounce off their own foreheads and all you end up getting is a pissed-off cat butting its face against you. "ha ha!" you can say. "smooshy-face kitty no bitey!" this one time, also assisting with a persian lion cut, the kitty went to bite me several times but just bounced its face off my hand. "stop hittin' yerself! stop hittin' yerself!" i was saying, and the manager lady was laughing her head off.
ah, kitty karma, you're such a bitch.
not only did this cat bite me, he laid into me like my thumb was a hot dog on a stick. i felt those teeth completely punch through skin, and my tendons were crunching around like the stick of said aforementioned hot dog. of course, anyone who either has cats or handles animals on a regular basis knows the first thing NOT to do is to pull away when a dog or cat has any of your body parts in its mouth. that's the surefire way to do even more damage to yourself than the animal would do for you.
so i sat there and let kitty eat my hand. when he was finally done and i could take my hand away, he immediately went for the manager lady, free paw swinging wildly at her face. "c'mere, bitch!" there were five puncture wounds all in the fleshy part beneath my thumb at the large knuckle, and one in the webbing between thumb and forefinger. three were so deep i could see meat, and the bruising goes clear through to my palm. at the time, i had limited mobility in my ring and pinky finger, but it was just enough to drive the Funkmobile (which is a standard) to urgent care.
i'm grounded from work tomorrow, for which i threw a mighty fit in the salon, because i fucking need and WANT to work, dammit! i love my job, and i love paying bills.
i so didn't mean that the way it sounded.
so i got my gimpy hand and am doing this neat finger tapdance on the keyboard, trying to type with three working fingers: middle (yay! i can still give the bird!), ring, and pinky. my index finger is limited because of the bites in the webbing, it hurts in the muscle. and my thumb is all but immobile. the numbness is gone, and in its place is a nice, dull ache. nothing that really bothers me until i, y'know, actually try to do anything.
so all i can say is...yeah. bad kitty. bad, baaaad kitty!