My blog turned six last month, and now that I’ve missed a bus that only  comes around every three hours, I reckon it’s time for an update.

I’ve found no signs of bed bugs and I never dive residential dumpsters, no matter how many things I see that my neighbors throw away that I’d like to have.

My cat is dying.  He has oral squamous cell carcinoma. His tongue was amputated and he’s remaining alive by tube feeding him in the neck. The bitch of it is, other than the rapidly growing tumor in his mouth, his body would be in exceptionally good health. One theory postulated is Phillippe’s  prolonged exposure to second-hand smoke. My mother, God rest her soul, smoked like a Chinese factory, the walls of our old apartment stained black from her habit. Oh well, he is fifteen, and you have to die of something, right? I’m just not ready to euthanize him yet, but soon I’ll have to before the disease progresses to its ultimate painful conclusion. I’m riding this out as long as can since he still has a tiny bit of quality of life.  

I’m following the time-honored tradition of my Appalachian relatives in having a second tooth yanked from my mouth (not counting my wisdom teeth, of course). When finished, I exclaimed to the surgeon,  “That was miraculous!” He took this as a great compliment to his alacrity and painlessness, while complimenting me on being a good patient.

Lastly, here is an updated list of my diagnoses for those of you keeping track:  OCD, major depression, dependent personality disorder, panic attacks, social anxiety disorder, and hoarding disorder. I should put that on a match.com profile, or plentyoffish, with the header “Swim away!”

 

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