Tumult

Wow. December was teh crayzee. As evidenced by my lackluster blogging performance!

I'm not going to write about any more personal relationship stuff until I actually know for sure what's going on. Disregard anything I may have said in prior entries about what's going on in our lives or where I might be living, because it'll just make things simpler. Believe me.

I threw myself into an artistic frenzy and made cut paper art for a bunch of people this Christmas. I ended up not taking any pictures (like a lazy fool) but will get some examples up soon, I hope. Thankfully we know and love those who possess said art, so it's not impossible to go take shots of it all. Since 'cut paper art' isn't the most descriptive ... description, I'll try to explain: It's framed scenes created using cut paper. Kind of like a collage, but not really. I bought the funkiest scrapbooking paper I could find and went to town. Mom got an elephant, of course, La and Mimi got trees, Dan and May got entwined trees, Colin and Jen got koi fish, Jenny and Colm got a baobab tree, and Andrew's parents got seagulls against a sky. Lots of trees in there, but I love trees and they make lovely subjects for cut paper art. I was very pleased with how the one for Andrew's parents turned out and want to make a similar piece for my own walls.

I've also been maskmaking, of course, because TOMORROW is the start of 365 Masks! O holy crap. What am I doing? I have a few made ahead and plan to always stay a week or so ahead if possible (or even more). Please check it out and don't be too harsh on me, OK?

This weekend was Post Christmas-Christmas, but Mongkut chose to start barfing his intestines out beginning at around 3:30 in the morning of the day we were leaving. He barfs a lot for a cat, but this was different and so by the time he was just retching and bringing up clear stuff many hours later we made a vet appointment and I ended up staying home for the weekend to deal with the sick-cat-related complications. In the end, after bloodwork and IV fluids and x-rays and two overnight stays, it has cost a buttload (and I mean a major buttload, not just a skinny little buttload) of money to find out that there's nothing especially wrong with him. He probably ate some rando thing and felt queasy for a while, then dehydrated himself with all the barfing.

I'm glad in a way because I'd been starting to get paranoid about his skinny little self. I'd thought he was losing some weight, but the vet commented, "Wow, he's really solid!" when he lifted him up to weigh him, and he weighs about twelve and a half pounds. Not terrible. All his bloodwork is normal and he seems perky, apparently, so he comes home this evening. I get to bring him home on the Bathurst bus, where he will scream his idiot head off and cause me great embarrassment and shame. Woo hoo!

Shelley will be glad. He's been moping around and clinging to me quite a lot in the absence of his brother and Andrew. He probably thinks we gave Mong away, but it seems that Shelley needs Mong as much as Mong needs him, so that'll never happen. I've been pressed into service playing fetch a lot more than usual. That's right: Shelley plays fetch. Just like a dog. He brings his paper ball and one of us throws it. He runs after it, bats it around a bit, then brings it right back to us. Sometimes he sets it down a bit too far away, but I've found if I tap on the floor where I want him to drop it while he's running toward me, he'll come right to the spot and let it go. What a little smartypants.

Mong, of course, has no desire to play fetch at all. That's OK. I just want him back home so he can sit on Andrew's chest and take some breaks from that to amuse Shelley.

Happy New Year!