Saturday Morning

Today has been an incredibly productive morning so far. After putting it off forever, I got the car smogged, which wow! was expensive. I'm sitting in a cafe right now because my free wireless days seem to have come to a screeching halt, for real this time. It was a good run while it lasted, and though I've no right to complain about my neighbor locking down their once open network, I think I will. That's what we're all about here at Professional Critic.

I've added Twitter to my blog, so you can keep track of me throughout the day. There are other Twitter-y things one can do, but I don't understand them yet. And even more exciting is that I can now post via email, which I hope will help ramp up the amount of posting I do. As you may know, my wellspring of irritation runs very deep. Sufficient outlets are necessary for good health.

Last night I was watching The Namesake. About halfway through I went into the kitchen to get potato chips (Trader's Joe's reduced fat kettle chips: so-so)and noticed a dirty streak on the floor. This is not remotely unusual, but this didn't resemble the usual detritus of cat litter, coffee spills, and sparkly threads from cat toys. In fact, the entire floor was covered with these smears and with a sickening drop of my stomach I realized the floor was dotted liberally with cat shit. I pulled the lid off the cat box; my brain could not comprehend the diarrhea explosion that had issued forth within the plastic walls. It was everywhere.

Gus and Josephine came over to investigate, as they always do when I scoop the box, and I spotted a blob of litter encrusted diarrhea on Gus' back. My first response, which was to strangle him and wail, or vice versa, quickly evaporated. Poor Gussie had an upset stomach! Even worse, he had a brain the size of a chick pea so whatever he ate could have been killing him as I stood there contemplating my shittified kitchen floor. But clearly he was fine, and to illustrate this point he proceeded to wolf some kibble, race around the house and knock over a floor lamp as I was elbow deep in his dooky.

Who knows what that was all about? But since on any given day I see him attempting to eat a variety of non-food items such as carpet lint, power cords, house plants, and globs of my hair out of the drain, I guess an upset stomach is bound to occur now and again.