San Francis! Ayudame!
Misu, my sweet baby boy. My sad little soldier. My tough little ham. Last sunday he came home with his face a bashed up mess; his eye half swollen shut, his cheeck puffed out, his tiny head oozing puss. On monday I wrapped him in a soft towel and carted him to the Rutherford Animal Hospital to see what they could do to keep his little kitty face from exploding. Three options: 540 dollars of surgery, 250 dollars of surgery, or 100 dollars of antibiotics. Insane- half my friends and family have no health insurance, no doctors visits, and here I am paying good money on a little creature.

What this means is twice a day I feed the hideous little monster oral antibiotics with a medicine dropper- drop by slow lazy drop. Next I take a plastic tiped syringe and shove it into the green oozing cut atop his shaved head. I find a nice little pocket under the skin to slide in the tip and to douse the absess with more antibiotics. When I feel like the cavity is full of medicine, I tilt up his head and douse the cavity under his chin with antibiotics as well. We do this before breakfast and before dinner, because if we eat before hand, we'd probably loose it. I call it Time for torture.

This is perhaps the toughest thing I've had to do. I'm no nurse. Shoving plastic syringes into cute fluffy absessed kitten heads leaves me feeling a little dark and sullen. My mother says I should have put Misu to sleep and gone to the SPCA to get a better one. She says that if that is too hard for me, I should pull up to the animal shelter parking lot and kick him out of the car. My mother also slaughtered chickens as a small child so we must forgive her warped sense of compassion reagarding such things. For her animals are things which are made up of meat.

Today: my new favorite band Schneider TM
So beautiful. Sublime. Perfect. I could live with no one else.
om shanti