cat named pig

Elliot has a sprained ankle. Or something. The diagnosis was not super-precise, because there was none of the swelling that usually accompanies a sprain, and also because he would not let the doctor come anywhere near any part of his leg south of the knee. So when the x-ray showed no sign of fracture, she guessed sprain and sent us home to wait for it to get better.

That was on Friday. When we brought him back in Monday morning (he did not take one single step all weekend, and cried when we put shoes and socks on him), she watched him play, crawling around with his left foot in the air, or scooting on his behind, but never standing up. She tried to examine him again, and he refused to let her touch his foot or ankle. So again, we went home with instructions to watch him closely and bring him back on Friday if he still won’t walk on it. It seems a little better today; he’s taken a few steps, but the whole thing has been sort of sad for him. It’s strange to see him crawling around like he’s an infant again.

Since it happened when he and Siena were rough-housing, it’s been a good reminder that he is not quite as sturdy as we think he is. He usually instigates the skirmishes these days, and I usually permit it, figuring it’s ok since he obviously wants to wrestle. So Siena and I have been feeling somewhat guilty these last few days. Unfortunately, she expresses this by being grumpy at everyone, rather than just blogging about it. Which is kind of a bummer if you live with her.  

Also kind of a bummer is the fact that Elliot weighs quite a bit more now than he did as an infant, and my back is starting to do weird spasm-y things from carrying him all the time. And that, in turn, is kind of a bummer for anyone who lives with me. (Sorry, hon. Hopefully after yoga tonight I won’t be as grumpy as I was last night.) 

On the bright side, my response to the weather has been to put flannel sheets on our bed, which are incredibly cozy and the only reason I’m not crying about the snow outside. Here is my new “office,” where all blogging, article writing, and internet-related wasting of time will take place, at least until April:

The cat, currently burrowed under the comforter next to my legs, does not seem interested in leaving Flannel Heaven until April either. (Except for the four hours out of every day that she feels compelled to spend standing directly behind me in the kitchen, in the hope that when I step on her and drop whatever I’m trying to cook, I will just give up on it and feed her instead.)

Yep, it’s a slow news week now that the election is over. We’re all just waiting: for the conclusion of the Senate recount, for Elliot’s ankle (or foot, or whatever) to heal, or in Pig’s case, waiting for someone to trip over her, sprain their ankle, and somehow interpret that as a sign that she needs some cat chow in between meal times.