By the way, here are Flossie/Lizzie/Poppy's parents.
So, really, they BOTH have spotty spots, and I know you hope I keep on sayin' spotty spots. They look sort of similar, and given that this is out in the country and that mom had been a stray, do you think they might could be related? I have a royal family situation on my hands. A real Camilla Barker Bowles sitch.
So, I'll bet those spots (aka spotty spots) will spread out over time and she'll mostly be white. Which expands my palette of pets, slightly. She'll be white and gray as opposed to my cats, who are gray and white. Woah, June! That's the crazy talk! Slow down!
In the meantime, that statistics book I'm working on? All got repaginated, so five pages of index material all have to be redone. I have to look up each word and each page number associated with the word, FIND it in its new spot, and in teensy tiny writing, cross out the old page number and add in the new one. Here is two hours of work yesterday...
Yesterday it gave me a migraine. For a change.
I went to the doctor yesterday because with the migraines, already. Really, I wouldn't have even bothered to go, but the doctor wouldn't renew me unless I saw her. At any rate, she wants me back on a low dose of Topamax, which is the stuff that makes me stupid. And at one point, it made me skinny, but it only worked that one time and I never should have gotten off of it.
Also, she gave me a blood test to see if I'm officially, um, in menopause, which oh god I'm old. I started my period in January of 1979, when I was 13, and I stopped with no warning in January of this year, when I was 50. Hello, stereotypical. I hate to be typical about anything. But there it is.
So the test tells me if my estrogen is slowing down or if I'm turning into a man or what. I'd make a fantastic and not at all milksoppish man.
And while we're on the topic of my riveting medical woes, there I was yesterday at the doctor and did not even think to mention my trapped ulnar nerve. (A brain. A home. The nerve.) My ulnar nerve is trapped in a pit at Buffalo Bill's house. It hurts real bad, mister.
Anyway. A trapped ulnar nerve (the nerve.) (see. now me going back to saying "spotty spot" seems like a vacation in Europe, doesn't it?) is this thing where, when you put your elbow on the table because you forgot you have a trapped ulnar nerve, your elbow goes ZZZZT! and you want to die. I'm like that guy in Benjamin Button who gets hit by lightning all the time.
I did the responsible thing and Googled some exercises for it, which I have been doing, but it still hurts. Actually, dry needling is one way to get rid of it but oh my god, I can't even imagine. I don't know if I have (the nerve).
Last night on our W, which I don't have to say because Edsel can't read, we were in the big field after The Seeing of the Chickens, and I said, "Eds, can I talk to you?" Eds rubbed his snout on the grass. He hates his Gentle Leader so bad.
"Eds, you know Tallulah is gone." When I said, "Tallulah," he looked around. Poor Edsel. "And you remember how we had a puppy for one day? Well, I'm getting another one. You're getting a sister." Edsel lunged at a rabbit. "She'll be here in awhile, so we have to get her crate out and get some puppy food and a leash." (I already have a puppy collar that I got for Stanley and don't get me started. Oh my god, I miss Stanley. Am a nutbag.)
He seemed unfazed, Edsel did, and that could be because he can look at shit and Shineola and be all, "?" Really, he'd eat the shit, and he might eat the Shineola, so we're back to square one. At least I told him.
Let's just look at one more picture of Zuzu/Blanche/Lolita and her world-weary face.