Sorry for the decrease in productivity around here, but I have a note from my doctor testifying that I was laid out on a stainless steel table earlier this afternoon and put to sleep like an elderly poodle. Then, judging by my unreliable recollections and the somewhat more tangible puncture wounds in my back, a nerve-specific cocktail of steroids and anaesthetics was injected into the facet joints of my lumbar region and I was sent home to spend a passionate evening with some kung pao chicken and a bottle of Vicodin.
Speaking of which; upon my return I anticipated the usual interrogative trills and violent, full-contact sideswiping of the shins. Instead, I found the cats were…well, there’s no other way to put it…catatonic, a condition from which they declined to emerge until that ribbon of sunlight had completely traversed the living room and begun to ascend the bookcase. Now, as mood-altering drugs go, they’re fairly resistent; Riley can hold her catnip, and Moondoggie seems immune to the stuff. But from now on I’m declaring photons a Schedule I narcotic and using the vertical blinds to control dosage. This is the last time I come back here and find them flaked out in the living room like Brad Pitt in True Romance.
“Are you feelin’ it, dude?…I’m totally feeling it…”