Aw, crap and Operation Kitty Medicine

The Bitch From Hell is sick.

Again.

And considering her complete and utter lack of hygiene, I think it's safe to say that it's only a matter of time before she infects the entire office.

JOY.

There should be some sort of law for the workplace that if you don't wash your hands after you use the bathroom, you can be tied up and beaten with broom handles by the entire staff.

Don't you think so?

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If you can, please keep my husband in your thoughts tomorrow. He gets his annual review. Based on that, we'll (he'll) figure out if he's going to change jobs or not. Hopefully he'll tell his manager about the other positions (and giant raises) he's been offered elsewhere, and they'll at least try to compete to keep him at his current company. Matching either of the salaries being offered would be even better.

Eh, we'll see. I long ago lost faith in his company to keep their promises, so it's pretty much up to him.

Either way, any good vibes, positive thoughts, or prayers you can send his way would be appreciated.

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I think Az was in heaven last night.

She got 3 hours of nearly uninterrupted belly rubbing and cuddle time last night. She was surprisingly PRESENT last night, which surprised me. Lately she's been hiding about 23 hours of the day.

I don't think it has anything to do with the fact that we've been giving her medicine again.

If she would just take the damn medicine mixed in her food, it would be much less traumatic for all of us. Instead, she won't touch her food if there's anything else in it. She'll go eat Callie's instead.

So, we've resorted to tactical military operations. Operation Kitty Medicine, I think I'll call it. This is how it works:

When she's upstairs, we close the door to the stairs. Then we close the office door. (Alex's door is always closed, unless she's there.) Az is usually hiding under our bed by this time. My husband gets the medicine ready, and scares her out from under the bed. We get her running toward the bathroom, where she looks eagerly for an escape route, sees there are none, and then cowers, waiting for me to grab her. Then my husband shoots the medicine from the syringe into her mouth. Sometimes she foams at the mouth. Sometimes she doesn't. Sometimes she'll get a few scratches in. Sometimes she doesn't. It really all depends.

It seems like with all the time she spends walking around the house crying, she'd be perfectly willing to take her medicine. It makes her better. But, apparently not. The prospect of being tortured by being HELD overshadows any of the benefits of it.

She was lucky today, because my husband isn't home. There was no torture this morning. Tomorrow night when he gets home, though, it will begin again.

Does anyone know where I can find some really good cat-claw proof protective gear?