Ramble, ramble, ramble.

Harley has taken up residence in a shoe box. Like, literally. She has not left the thing in 72 hours. She just rolls up into a ball, content as ever. I think it's funny that my cat's taken up residence in a shoe box because that's where I'll be one of these days IF I DON'T FIND A DECENT-PAYING, FULL-TIME JOB.

I have faith that one day I'll have a career again, and money, and life will be good, but until then - whimper. If I start thinking too hard about it, my heart stops. Swear to God.

Also, I went back to the doctor this morning for a suture check, and he's quite pleased at how lovely his stitching work looks. Unfortunately, biopsy results are not back yet, so there's one more thing to make my heart stop beating, if I think too much about it.

I go back in a week to have the stitches removed, and I'm not making any promises that I won't almost-pass-out. Just... yuck. Why can't they put me to sleep to do these things?

He said if the sutured area starts getting irritated, or "leaking gross stuff," call him. It's a sign of infection. NEAT. Can't wait!

MOB was in town over the weekend, and witnessed his first litter box experience. I don't know how it's taken this long, but alas.

Because I live in a studio, the litter box is right there. Like, in the living room. There is nowhere else for it to go. So when the cats have to go, it's a show.

We were on the couch - I was resting from my traumatic boob surgery - when Harley crawled into the box for a No. 2.

With his reaction, you'd think it was MOB who'd had a chunk of his body surgically removed.

"Oh God. Oh God," he whined. "That's... so gross. Oh God."

I laughed, continued reading my book.

"Oh God."

I still laughed.

"I need air. I need to lay down."

At this, I glanced up. Sure enough, he was laying down, fanning his face. He was SERIOUS. So he's laying there doing breathing exercises, and I'm deciding whether I should get him a cool cloth or punch him in the head.


But he took a moment to collect himself, gather strength, and sat up.

"Are you OK?" I asked.

"Yes, better. I just needed to lay down."

I burst into a fit of snorts and giggles because I was in the presence of a gigantic wimp. But I forgive him.