Short Week, Long Face

It might have been a short week this week after the public holiday on Monday, but it seems to have been the longest short week in the whole world.

My bank are a bunch of arses. The paperwork for my new mortgage has so far been lost twice and once drawn up with the wrong surname on it. I still haven’t signed it and I am supposed to, by court order, give my ex a rather large cheque by COB tomorrow. I somehow doubt that is going to happen on time. I finally got an apologetic email from my mortgage broker after I emailed him this morning and suggested that when the paperwork was ready perhaps he could deliver it to me IN JAIL, where I will be languishing, having been thrown in the clink. I still do not have a contract to sign, however.

The Boyfriend got the shits and quit his job yesterday. Idiot. Personally I think a better plan may have been to get a new job first, then tell them how they are a bunch of *insert appropriate word here*s.

Yesterday I got confirmation that while I will still have a job and the same salary in the restructure, my job title changes to something about 5 levels down. Oh, and I’ll be responsible for more than before. The new job title in no way reflects what I will really be doing and that shits me immensely.

A friend’s girlfriend who had a bad asthma attack and failed to get CPR in time during the recent dust storms has just had her life support turned off. Her 13 year old child thinks that because she has not died yet she will recover. The doctors tell us she is brain dead.

I made The Boyfriend’s parents very teary last night when they realised that me getting my house back might mean we spend less time with them. I feel like a thief who is taking away their baby (their grown up fully adult baby but whatever).

I feel torn about having made The Ex leave my house – I have been financially supporting him for about 3 years while he plays a stupid online game that rhymes with Schmorld of Schmarcraft for about 15 hours a day. It is finally time to pull the plug, move him out of my house, stop paying his bills, and give him a big cheque in exchange for the deed to the house. It’s well overdue but it feels sad anyway.

One of the girls in the office who I was commiserating with earlier about how much this week sucks just came into my office and said “As if that’s not enough I now have the Wiggles song Wake Up Jeff in my head!” I have cheered myself up by telling her I have the cure. She is very silly for agreeing. I got her to sing the chorus of Rah Rah Rasputin. Well, at least she doesn’t have The Wiggles on the brain any more. She is stalking around the office telling all that she is going to kill me, but at least I’m smiling now.

Oreo

Here’s Oreo in the garden.

She certainly wasn’t always the most elegant of cats.

She took up far too much room in the bed than you would think possible for a little cat. I think she thought she was a human, she used to lie with her head on the pillow and her body under the covers, just like me.

On Saturday we sprinkled her ashes into the garden where she loved to sit in the sun.

Sad

My cat had her operation late yesterday. It was a pretty nasty sounding deal but the vet was confident.

She woke up from the operation and it all looked good. An hour after that, she died. No good reason, she just died.

If there’s a kitty heaven, she’s up there right now scratching the eyes out of other cats.

Pussy Prayers

I’ve often wondered what it must be like to have a child that is just simply horrible. Mean, spiteful – we’ve all met someone like that. Do you think their mum loves them? I suspect they do, based on my own reactions this week.

I have 2 cats. One is a lovely lively little thing even though he’s very naughty, and in fact was named after a bushranger because he is such a naughtly little character and always was. The other cat is a horrible little bitch. Several times I have had girlfriends go home with blood running down their face from where they got too close to this one. She once crapped on me, in my bed, while I slept. For fun. Then I rolled in it. She can’t help it – the vet told me many years ago she was just not a very nice natured animal, probably didn’t like me, and prescribed kitty-prozac.

A few weeks ago my little special needs kitty was diagnosed with a skin cancer on her nose. Half a nose later, I hoped that would be the end of it. However the past few days it has gotten dramatically worse. And now I am awaiting the phone call that will tell me if there’s anything more that can be done. I actually suspect not – the news has not sounded good to date.

I’d appreciate any good thoughts being aimed towards my little kitty today, horrid though she may be. I wish I didn’t care so much – it’s not cool to bawl at work.