Kitty panic! Job panic! Panic Panic! Panic!

[roseembolism]

So, today was supposed to be spent doing research and writing a proposal.  I have what sounds like a cool job waiting for me, assuming I can parse my prospective employer's instructions well enough to figure out how to improve his website for the upcoming 2010 Olympics.   Instead, it ended up something like this:

Kitty to the Doctor!

For the shots, I was originally supposed to take the kitties to AMD vets.  Due to budgetary concerns, I instead took them to Al's Lube and Vet.

*VRRRRRrrt!  VRRRRRrrt!*  "Yeah, looks like yer cats gotta cracked valve or a bladder infection or sumpin'.  Gonna cost ya.  Be two weeks, if I c'n get the parts.  Tell ya what- I'll give ya a loaner cat.'
"Aackpth!"
"Just keep im from eatin' the litter, and away from open flame, 'kay?"

It didn't help that when I came home for the kitties, the house smelled of ammonia.  The cat box that I had argued with the RxM over whether it was too expensive to replace got unceremoniously dumped in the trash, and the next hour was spend gagging on fumes while cleaning the corner the catbox had inhabited.

Next big thing: I noticed that the latest unemployment check was supposed to be the last one: even though I had money in my balance, my unemployment term had ended after only three months.  PANIC!  This led to a mad dash to the Sunnyvale EDD office, and the information that my old unemployment account hadn't actually been closed, and had expired after the year was up.  So I redid the paperwork, and was told that I should get my next check in two weeks, not after a waiting period.  Yay.  And since it will be based on my latest job, it may even be more.  Double yay.

So, I got my cats back, who aren't speaking to me, and I got an unemployment benefit restored that hopefully I won't even need if I can get this damn project done by Thursday.   O which I got exactly...nothing done on. 

Tomorrow.  Tomorrow will be a good day to panic.  Tonight is a good night for a potato and sausage medley, and Slivovitz.

Comments

[deirdremoon.livejournal.com]

Man, I hate those lube and vet guys. We took Yeats there to be neutered, figuring it was a standard job so we didn't need to pay the dealership. I walked up just as the guy was finishing, and I swear I saw him look at a screw that was *left over* and just pocket it. He denied it, of course. But you know how Yeats rattles sometimes when he breathes? Yeah, I blame them.