Penelope is sick. About two weeks ago I gave her some different wet food one night when I was out of her standard PetGuard and ever since then her guts have been a little upset. Then last night she started vomiting and today she vomited some more. I just took her to the vet, she’s home now, but they’re not really sure what’s up. They gave her fluids for her dehydration and, of all things, some Pepcid AC. I just administered some sort of paste to her that is made of probiotics and something to help her tummy feel better. 

I’ve got her resting in the bedroom away from Telemachos, but I’m still worried about her. The vet also heard a slight heart murmur and it’s not heartworms so they’re running tests. I’m scheduled to go up for the weekend with Jesse to the Hostel in the Forest but now I’m a little nervous. I know John will take good care of her but Penelope. . . she is in some ways my best friend. I love her so much, we’ve been through so much together! 

Just about 11 years ago I got her from the shelter, a tiny, calico monster with enormous feet and bigger lungs, and nothing but a stump where a tail should be. Since then I’ve watched her grow up and turn into the most awesome cat I’ve ever known, talkative, bossy, particular, and sweet. She’s the Lizard-Catcher, the Moth-Swatter, the Owl-Howler, the Sandwich-Snatcher, the All-Day-Sleep-Master, the Fall-Overer, and the Mistress of Snug. I want her to be OK so much, I’ll be on tenterhooks until she feels better and her blood work comes in and she starts feeling better.

 

 

It took about 15 minutes of Telemachos being home before he started being incredibly hyper and bad and so therefore back to normal. You’d think getting your nuts removed would make you simmer down for at least a day, but despite my best efforts he’s back to jumping on things, biting things, and generally refusing any of the aftercare advice given to me by the vet tech. I can’t seriously consider keeping him locked in his carry-case so he’s living in the bedroom for the next week, trying to get out and play with Penelope.

I’m feeling a little sick, a slight cold I’m worried will settle in my chest. I’m also worried about my Greek exam tomorrow but given that I pretty much aced the practice exam he sent out I don’t think it will be too bad.

Things are going well with editing the book but I’m a little frustrated by some news I got yesterday that I can’t really write about here. I’m still going to press on and finish the project with Jesse but the future of the book might not be as bright as I had initially desired and hoped given a few circumstances.

Telemachos is getting his neutering surgery today. I just dropped him off and I’m really worried about him. I know it’s a routine operation but I’m still nervous.

He looked really scared when I left him after being super-quiet on the drive there. I’ve been trying to study for a while now but I keep getting distracted and thinking about him.

I know he’s the worst kitten in the world, but I still adore him. He’s learning to let us pet him and it’s awesome to see  him get better. He and Penelope are friends on some level at this point, and last night he only swatted at me once before letting me scratch him behind the ears for at least two minues before he nipped me.  A few months ago that would have been impossible.

I get so frustrated with him and it’s not fair. I know he can’t control his urge to make biscuits and nurse on things even if I want him to. I hold out hope that he’ll grow out of it, he seems at least to be more accepting of us throwing him off us when he tries (even if he just goes to find the nearest blanket or wad of dirty clothes to nurse on afterwards). His nips are a lot less hard these days, too, and when he gets the uge to jump on me and attack he rarely sinks his teeth into me anymore. Occasionally he does, to be sure, but he’s learning.

I hope  he’s OK.

Yesterday we returned from a camping trip for Jesse’s birthday. It was exceedingly awesome, but I am glad to be home again and sleeping in a bed instead of on sand. 

I am doing well on my resolution to work for at least half an hour on the book every day, and it is paying off (well, we’ll see. I have a Greek test this Thursday and I have a suspicion I will not do as brilliantly as I would like due to this new commitment taking up my time). I’m entering the home stretch of the edits from my end and I’m starting to have weird anxieties over style and my language. Too late now, I suppose, to second-guess the entire novel, though I’m doing it.

Also, I have a sore throat. Exciting times around Chez Tanzer.

I really wish Michael Phelps would stand up for himself regarding this whole ridiculous freak-out over the stupid picture of him (allegedly) smoking pot. It’s the perfect opportunity for someone famous and respected to speak up about the culture of fear built up around marijuana usage in America. Instead we get the ultimate back-pedal and if he ever competes again and loses, I’m sure everyone will  blame the weed.

I really love Edward Gorey’s work, and was thinking about his stuff today and how lucky we are that he was so marvelously prolific. Here’s one of my favorites of his, The Disrespectful Summons, which to me has always been a metaphor for creativity, although I’m sure it’s just supposed to be an awesome story about the Devil.

The Disrespectful Summons

Edward Gorey

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Greek instructor sometimes has us write short original compositions in Greek in order to play with verbal forms. This frequently results in hijinks and malarky (at least in the groups I tend to be in) and today my compatriots and I earned some kleos when our humble effort was put upon on the board for everyone to admire. Here’s the transcript of our barbarous yet humorous attempt:

Κάσσιδη φοβοῦμαι μὴ αἱ αἵγες ἀφιστᾶσι τοὺς ἵππους κάτα τῶν ἱππέων.

(Cassidy is afraid that the goats will cause the horses to revolt against the horsemen.)

ὦ Μολλῆ, τίθει τὰς ἄιγας ἐν τῇ χώρα.

(O Molly, put the goats in the countryside.)

Κάσσιδη δίδωσι τὸν Κᾶρλον ταῖς αἴξι.

(Cassidy gives Karl to the goats.)

Μολλῆ φοβοῦμαι μὴ οὐ Δημοσθένης ἀμύνῃ τὸν Κᾶρλον τῶν αἰγῶν.

(Molly fears that Demosthenes will not save Karl from the goats.)

If by some small chance someone who reads Greek finds this post offensive with a misplaced breathing or faulty accent, please know that the Greek font is really tiny on the WordPress screen and I just generally suck at figuring out the acute from the grave on the keyboard. Apologies!

Every time I think I’ve had just about enough of Greek, something pops up that rekindles my joy. Today, for example, I learned that our venerable word tragedy, used so often in our culture, comes (obviously) from the Greek τραγῳδία, the cathartic literary production of so many playwrights. What is interesting, however, is that τραγῳδία, or, in English letters, tragoidia, is a compound of two other words, tragos and aeidein, or “goat” and “to sing.” That’s right, tragedy literally means goat-song. 

There are several theories about this, ranging from the dull (a goat might have been the prize at the Dionysia), to the moderately convincing (goats may once have been sacrificed to choral song, which evolved into tragedy as we know it, like in Antigone, etc.), to the highly impertinent (choral singers were young men much like goats in that they were hairy, smelly, and licentious).

With this in mind I turn to attempting to memorize -μι verb patterns.

Raccoon bites off perverts [sic] penis

A raccoon has bitten off a pervert’s penis as he was trying to rape the animal.

Alexander Kirilov, 44, was on a drunken weekend with pals when he leapt on the terrified animal.

“When I saw the raccoon I thought I’d have some fun,” he told stunned casualty surgeons in Moscow.

Now Russian plastic surgeons are trying to restore his mangled manhood.

“He’s been told they can get things working again but they can’t sew back on what the raccoon bit off.

“That’s gone forever so there isn’t going to be much for them to work with,” said one friend.

 

I wonder if the picture in the article is of the actual raccoon involved, or they’re just profiling.

Omg! I should be working on my book review! Instead I am posting pictures of the tattoo I’d like to get! It would be a cool sleeve! 

See, my little maenad from the front:

And full body, from a bad angle:

Twee snake! Maenad! I should be working!