Kittens and New Crunched Cars

A small grey kitten, its head twisted nearly one-hundred and eighty degrees, with its forehead pressed against my chest. Heavy, gurgly purrs while I stratch that spot under the chin that is so awkwardly presented for attention. Eight little talons on her back-legs, giving her the assurance she needs that she isn’t going to slip off my lap during these ministrations. It will be interesting trying to explain these puncture wounds to my doctor tomorrow.

Is the medicine finally kicking in? I’m not sure, but this is the longest stretch of time I’ve ever gone without having to make a run for the bathroom. Whatever the reason, I’ll take it. I’m sitting down with somewhat more ease as well – remind me never to take sitting for granted again.

Up till after 2:00 a.m. last night. Tried desperately to get to sleep earlier, but the man who has nothing to say to me over meals brims over with conversation when I become too tired to participate. There are times I want to shake him. His depression over the new car getting hit is utter and complete. It’s taking forever for the insurance company to get back to him, they’re going to take short-cuts fixing it, he isn’t going to like the job they do fixing it, he’s going to have to take it to a shop afterwards and have it fixed right after it comes back from this shop, the other driver is going to lie about what happened, his insurance rates are going to go up. No patience. No faith in his fellow man. I often wonder why he’s a Socialist. I should take it as a good sign, that he can be so wrapped up in that new car. It means he feels secure I’ll be OK. But he’s being selfish when I want to be the selfish one. It’s all “him, him, him”. I want it to be “me, me, me”.

He apologized for that last night, and I really do understand. I wish he could apologize at a saner hour of the day, though.