Shit Days
.
I fucking hate having a shit day. And today has been a doozy.

First disaster was writing a load of really, really complicated code. Got it passing the debugger and said

"Hurrah! This calls for a cup of tea!"


Went and made tea and came back to my laptop, to find my cat sitting on it and no sign of my PHP Designer Window, and no sign of my code. And before you ask, I hadn't saved it.

This did not put me in a good mood. And I really didn't feel like rewriting that code again so I thought I'd make some bread with the nice and shiny bread-maker that had just arrived. Unpacked the machine, read all of the instructions, put in all of the ingredients, set the program and turned it on. Then went back to my laptop to start work again thinking:

"In three and a half hours I'll have some lovely, fresh, crusty bread"

But what they didn't say in the instruction book is make sure you nail the fucking machine in place otherwise, during the kneading phase, it'll slowly edge it's way forward and then commit suicide by hurling itself onto the kitchen floor. One breadmaker, smashed beyond repair. One kitchen floor, covered in dough and flour.

Fucksocks. Ah well.

So then I thought I'd better take the cat to the vets for her booster jabs and to get her stitches out. So I got the RSPCA cardboard cat-box out, put it on the floor and then tried to catch the cat. It does not like that box so hid under the sofa. 20 minutes to catch the little bastard and force her into the cat box. Where she started meeping piteously.

So I looked up the address of the vets on Google, called them and made an appointment. Brill. It was about a 10 minute walk away so off I toddled carrying the cat in her box. I got as far as the very busy main road when Mrs Fucking Houdini managed to smash her way through the bottom of the box and leg it through the traffic. Fucking great. Heart in mouth I set off after the feline escape artist. She managed to get into a garden and then hid. 40 fucking minutes searching for the little twat before I caught her again and stuffed her back in the box. And off I set again only this time holding the bottom of the box closed with my hands.

Finally made it to the address from the web page. Vets? What fucking vet. This was a private house. And I didn't have the number of the vet or even the name of the bloody place. All I'd memorised was the address. This wasn't going to be my day. So I set back off home again. As I was almost home my phone rang. So I put down the box, got out my phone and answered it. It was the vets asking if I was coming in today or not as I was well past my appointment time.

I explained that I'd been to the address given on the bloody website, 69 LaLa Street and it wasn't a vet. The receptionist said:

"But we're *169* not 69..."

So said I'd be there and rang off and.....

The fucking cat burst through the box again and legged it into the distance. So off I set in hot pursuit. This time it found a car and hid underneath it. Could I get the fucker out? Could I buggery. Eventually some passing kids spotted my trouble and gave me a hand. One of them crawled under the car and herded the little bastard into my arms. Gratefully I gave them 10 dollars and headed back to the cat box with a wildly struggling cat. She was not happy!! So I stuffed the little shit back into the box and set off again. By now I was seriously considering whether I should skip the vet and head instead for the river and drown the git. But I headed for the vets and, this time, made it without any more incidents.

I eventually got into see the vet and explained what had happened. That the cat was Houdini reincarnated. He laughed and examined the box.

"Here's your trouble mate" he said "See these two flaps - they have to be up at the sides to stop her breaking out."

Now I was fucking sure that those two flaps *were* up at the sides when I started out but perhaps I was mistaken so I said nothing. The vet did what was needed and handed me the bill. 130 fucking dollars! Fuck me! But, I paid him and set off, cat in the properly-put-together-by-a-vet box and set off for home.

Ten yards. I got fucking ten yards before the little shit burst out of the box again. But this time I was ready for her and rugby tackled her. A creditable dive and a one handed splat. She was pinned to the road, legs akimbo. So I grabbed her and stuffed her back in the fucking box again and set off home. Again, I was holding the bottom of the box so she couldn't force her way out. So she gave up.

Instead, she poked her paw out of the airholes and gave me a damm good scratching before I could reposition myself. Again, the river was looking very tempting...

So that's been my day so far. Fucking shit. And tomorrow is going to be bad too as I'm going to have a hangover. A well deserved hangover.

I knew we should have gotten a dog...

Cheers

Edit. And to add insult to injury, the cats not speaking to me now.
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Mon 5 May 2008, 9:12, 10 replies)

hmmm
-Failed to save work
-Failed to construct box correctly
-Failed to take full vet details

Epic fail Legless old son!
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Mon 5 May 2008, 9:24, closed)

Guilty As Charged.
Except that I did construct the box correctly but the fucking cat is Houdini. As soon as the lids shut, she hooks her fucking paw over the flap, pulls it down, then batters her way through the bottom.

The vet put the box together for the return trip and she was still out before I had travelled ten yards.

And the vets address was wrong on the fucking website. I just checked.

But I should have saved. I should know better.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Mon 5 May 2008, 9:28, closed)

Gah
A kitten on my keyboard managed to change so many settings on the laptop I had to go into the fucking registry to undo the damage the little bugger had done with his delicate paws, god alone knows how.

I always suspected cats were evil geniuses. Now I know they are.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Mon 5 May 2008, 10:36, closed)

This is why I have dogs
They have a good memory and know NOT to go near the computer lest they get the shouty wrath of piston_broke.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Mon 5 May 2008, 11:12, closed)

Bless you mate
May I offer a "blanket rule," which isn't a rule and is more effective with a towel than a blanket...
Many kittens, like babies, feel more secure if you wrap them in a tightish bundle. Putting them in boxes / carriers seems to stress them out big time. Possibly worth a try.

xxx
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Mon 5 May 2008, 12:07, closed)

Actually
I think I'll do a video of Houdini cat.

I'll demonstrate the cat box, put together properly, then put the cat in and start the clock.

Oooh. And I'll suspend it a couple of feet off the floor for added drama.

I bet the little shit is out in 30 seconds.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Mon 5 May 2008, 12:34, closed)

I never use those boxes.
A laundry sack is ideal, as you can tie them closed but the beast can still breathe through them. The cat also is generally happier if it can feel your lap under it as you drive- and if it's being a hissy thing with sharp bits, you can simply carry it at arm's length and there's nothing the cat can do about it.

It will definitely get you some odd looks, though...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Mon 5 May 2008, 12:57, closed)

Poor you

a bit late in saying it but still.

Youknow, i always thought of you as being British, no idea why :S

maybe it was because of yer name :P

Leglass = most of the UK on a friday and sat night
(Kuja335, Mon 5 May 2008, 23:02, closed)

Legless
is a good old Brit.

And a good friend.

Go Legless!
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 5 May 2008, 23:06, closed)

Woo

My hunch WAS right :D

now to figure out who frankspencer REALLY is!

COME ALONG WATSON!

....Watson?

oh noes hes ran aways :(
(Kuja335, Tue 6 May 2008, 23:11, closed)