Y’all forgive me, I know I haven’t been around in almost a week but I swear I have one hum-dinger of an excuse besides for the obvious one of Sweet Thang being in rehab (he came home, well actually to his Mom’s house, today! 3 WEEKS IN THE HOSPITAL AND REHAB AND 6 MORE WEEKS UNTIL HE CAN TRY TO LEARN TO WALK AGAIN. ). I’ve been suffering, and I do mean really truly suffering, from one hell of a summer cold. Stop right here if you’re faint of heart or weak of stomach.
Wednesday a week ago I got this annoying tickle in the back of my throat and started having uncontrollable sneezing fits. "Aha", I thought, "my allergies are kicking up". Thursday night I started running a fever and semi-drowning in a flood of snot that insisted on oozing from the old snoz. "Dang, maybe it’s not allergies after all!"
By Friday I was simultaneously coughing up a lung, blowing snot bubbles and fighting the runs at both ends; "Hey, I may really be sick!" There’s nothing like sitting on the toilet, garbage can conveniently centered between your feet within easy upchucking distance, with nobody but the cats to listen to you moan and groan. Heck, did you know that when you have the crud very time you cough the muscle contractions in your body will force a stream of liquid poop out your butt while snot dribbles down your upper lip and you wind up scrubbing both ends with reams of toilet tissue?
Not to worry though, I’m almost fully recovered after over a week of being sick, a sack full of OTC meds and a truck load of tissue. I still have a lingering cough, stuffy snotty sinuses, my nose looks like it belongs on Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and both it and my bunghole are tender as hell; but the fever is gone and food stays down so I think I may live although there for a while I had my doubts.
It got so bad that I started having flashbacks (maybe it was a fever dream?) to all those news stories and horror movies about people kicking the bucket while home alone and their pet pussies munching on the corpse, eating the deceased owner’s face off before anyone found the body. I tried having a long talk with Rufus and Shitty Kitty about love and respect; how Junebugg ala tartar probably wasn't very tasty (and would most likely give them indigestion) and that it just wouldn’t be proper to strip the admittedly plump flesh from my tired old bones; but the feline duo kept looking at me with twin evil gleams in their little slitty-kitty eyes and licking their chops (I swear they even drooled a little!) so I kept the food bowl overflowing, you know, just in case.
The worst thing is I haven’t gotten to see Sweet Thang in over a week because I’m afraid he’d bust a stitch coughing if he caught the crud from me (plus I'd feel really guilty if I gave this deadly virus to anyone, especially him!). We’ve played phone tag every night and I’ve got my fingers crossed that I’m almost over being contagious. I’m working nights this weekend and hoping I’ll be totally well by Monday; I’m in bad need of a little sugar and I know he’s ready for some TLC that doesn’t involve a nurse or his Mom.