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We cleaned today. 

Tazzer's personal catbox is out of my office, much to the dismay of the other two who used it and the dog who considered it an All-You-Can-Eat buffet. Furniture has been moved round, once it was backed away from walls, some of which hadn't seen sunlight since the previous Clinton Administration. The rug, aka Tazzer's Last Stand, was cleaned, was rinsed, burned down, fell over, then sank into the swamp. (It's been kicked to the curb- finally.)  Eleanor worked on the kitchen floor, as did I, for a time.  Then she decided to go next door.

A friend brought over a gizmo to make Betty more comfortable while seated.  It's an air-filled square that's adjustable to need.  She'd been reluctant about trying it, supposedly on advice of someone who feared it would lead to bedsores. (Dey don't know her very well, do dey?)  But hey- she said she'd consider it.

May as well, because bedsores are increasingly unlikely. That supposedly benign tumor they removed last month? Not benign. Quite the contrary. Aggressive, in fact.  She starts chemo stat.  But really.

Between all make and manner of celebrities, the cat, and now this?  2016 is on my shit list something fierce right now.

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