I believe I've contracted a serious affliction.

It's not something I can go to my doctor about, because it's actually rather embarassing. Besides, there's nothing she can do about it. It may be incurable, though it might be treatable with some sort of medication. I'm not really sure.

It's... *sigh* I can't believe I'm about write this in such a public arena. I've barely begun to admit it to myself.

Ok, here goes. My name is Carol, and I have "Kitty Stories as Journal Entries" syndrome.

Help me.

I took the little ones in for their shots and pre-neutering exams on Saturday, and oh what an adventure it was.

It was pretty easy putting the fellas into the big carrier. The only time they had ever experienced a carrier was when I brought them over to my house with their sister, and then they were tiny enough for all three to fit in my smaller, newer carrier. I thought there would be no problem with the two of them in the larger, old carrier. The one that's being held together by twisty-ties (never had a problem with big ol' fifteen pound Noel).

Silly me.

They were fine until I picked up the carrier and went outside. The unfamiliar smells, combined with being closed up and not seeing their surroundings, not to mention they were probably bouncing a little (I have a very quick, kind of bouncy walk naturally, and I was trying to hurry them to my car), well, the boys couldn't stand it. They started meowing and clawing and jumping around.

BAM! The bottom of the carrier separated from the top and the boys stopped in their tracks, looked wide-eyed at the big unfamiliar outside, and freaked. They jumped out of the carrier bottom and darted to the side of the building, then slunk around the three-foot-tall succulent plants.

I was able to grab B.J. very quickly, but couldn't get Edison. Luckily all of this happened right outside of Neighbor Nancy's front door, which was open, and she saw my feline slapstick act, so she ran out and was able to catch Edison. *phew* Thanks, Nancy!

Back to my place with the little buggers, as Nancy cooed at them ("Oh, they're so pretty, what handsome boys!"), where they ran under the bed for dear life (the kittens, not Nancy). I thanked her profusely, and wondered what the protocol was for something like that (offer her a drink? a nosh? maybe cat food for her own pretty cat?), but she went pretty quickly back to her place.

I went outside, grabbed the carrier, brought it back in and put it together, doubling the amount of twist-ties all around. Then I pulled out the smaller carrier. (I keep them under my living room end tables with the doors open so that if, heaven forfend, I had something like a fire or an earthquake, I could just grab the cats and put them in the carriers, then get the hell out of there. Well, that's the theory.)

I managed to pull B.J. from under the bed pretty easily (such a trusting soul) and, with a minimum of struggle, coaxed him into the big carrier. Edison was much harder to catch, and I was nearing the end of the little patience I had. It didn't help that Matisse and Noel kept getting in my way. You'd think they were trying to protect him, though Noel is not exactly fond of his younger housemates.

Finally, after copious amounts of cussing and a little bit of yelling (not to mention using the water bottle), I apprehended the rascal and placed him in the second carrier. And we were off!

Luckily, when I arrived at the vet, not only was there a parking space right in front of the door, but the lobby/waiting area was free of animals. One less thing to contribute to the traumatizing of the boys.

We were in and out pretty quickly, and aside from an ear mite problem that will be taken care of when I take 'em in tomorrow for their snipping, they're both fine, if a trifle big. I don't know if it's normal for eight month old kittens, but they're eleven pounds. Each. They must get it from their unknown father, because their momma is a tiny slip of a thing. The daddy must have also had some Maine Coon in him, because Edison looks exactly like a Maine Coon cat.

Of course, because of the ear mite problem I'll have to take Noel and Matisse in to the vet on Saturday. It's time for their booster shots anyway.

Am I totally hallucinating, or didn't the Academy Awards used to be on Mondays? I know it was held on a Sunday last year, but I could have sworn that in the past it was on Monday nights (due to the tradition of theatres "being dark" [not having a performance] on Mondays).

Maybe I'm confusing it with the Tony Awards.

Speaking of the Oscars, has this been a strange year for them or what? Between the disappearing/re-appearing ballots and the stolen/recovered statuettes, it almost seems like someone doesn't want the awards to happen. Hmmm....

This being L.A., naturally all the Oscar talk has pushed anything resembling actual news off of the airwaves. You think I'd be used to it by now. No, I just continue to be sickened by the bullshit masquerading as news on our TVs. Will the slanted sensationalism ever end? Or has objective reporting gone the way of the dodo?

*thinking back to Randolph Hearst and the days of "yellow journalism"* Then again, maybe I'm just deluding myself into thinking that objective reporting has actually ever existed.

Tune into...

A Texas boy experiences the wonder of Michigan winters.