Wednesday, 25 March 2015

Because I can't follow directions...or give them, apparently.

I am in the bustling metropolis (note: sarcasm) that is Invercargill for a training course for work for two days. 

Upon checking into the hotel, I promptly turn the heater on (after a suitable amount of time spent trying to figure out how to turn it seriously 5 minutes staring at a dial with temperatures and having nothing happen when I move it, searching for a switch, instructions, anything...oh, hey, turn on the switch at the power outlet, duh).  During my search, I noticed a sign asking to turn off all lights, switch, and the heater before leaving the room to conserve power.  Naturally I forget to turn the heater off when I leave to search out some Indian takeaway.

And then the tv.  Instructions say to leave the tv remote on channel one, and use the sky (satellite company) remote to switch channels...we have sky at home, we have the same remote.  Which remote do I use to change the channel?? <smacks head>  Ten minutes later, after pressing every button I can find, it occurs to me to use the tv remote and start pressing buttons on that.  Two seconds later, the evening news. 

So...I am away from the Moose and the pusses.  Not overly happy about it, but it will be easier to bang out this training course before bubs comes along than it will be to do it next year.  But that means the Moose has to express Toffee's bladder (the vet used to take her for boarding, but they have stopped that service now).  I have been trying to teach him the past few days.  So far, no good.  He can't get much pee out of her.  I drew him a rather hilarious diagram before I left (should have taken a picture of it), paying special attention to drawing sharp claws and a pissed off face, in addition to where to put pressure, etc, but so far he has had no luck.  He may have to take her to the vets tomorrow after work.  Poor Toffs.  At least she can leak out some pee so there is no danger of bladder explosion.  Hopefully this happens outside (I am thinking now of all the things I should have covered...down blanket on spare bed, cot mattress...).  My bladder feels sympathy for hers anyway.

Which brings up another valid point I will have to be considering in the not too terribly distant future: who is going to empty Toff's when my loins are being split asunder?  I might have to send the Moose to do it, and do some labouring alone...provided he can figure out how to get the pees out.  The worst case scenario would be having to go to Dunedin to birth this bubs...that is over a 3 hour drive, and will happen if there is even a hint of any complication.  Actually, the worst would be hospital bed rest.  Poor Toffs would suffer, and I doubt they would let me bring an incontinent cat into a sterile hospital environment ("I swear, she is a therapy animal!!  What do you mean she mauled 3 children and a nurse?  67 stitches?  Oh...")  I think I need to make some vet friends.  Ones who haven't met Toffs yet.

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