Today has been a rather violent emotional rollercoaster.
- It started with waking up happy that it was my last work day before my first stint of vacation (W-F off this week and next).
- Then being dumped over the head with a hundred and one changes for sections that aren't even mine, but the person they belong to had the foresight to go on vacation LAST week, so now I'm stuck finishing them before MINE.
- Go to get caffeine. Step in puddle of cat puke. Clean cat puke. Realize we only have caffeine-free soda left. Curse way back to computer.
- Get on hour-long conference call that is entirely reps from another department trying to wheedle us into doing things that are entirely out of scope because now, after handoff, they decided they want them.
- Raistlin drinks half of water bowl and promptly horks. I sigh and clean it up again.
- Get on a meeting where IT reps actually try to give me crap for not putting in ENOUGH unpaid overtime last weekend to fix someone else's problems, and I only got half of them done by Monday morning. (They were reported to me on Friday at 3 PM.)
- Raistlin drinks other half of water bowl. Horks. Sigh, clean it up, refill water bowl.
- Get notified by team lead that due to previously mentioned other person's errors, my vacation next week is being cancelled. (Fortunately, due to the fact I am flying to Cali to be with family, they can't force me to reschedule this week too, although they tried.) It will supposedly be made up to me eventually.
- Raistlin drinks large amount of water and vanishes. I come out of work-inspired frustration-rage-burnout-breakdown to suddenly realize CAT IS NOT ACTING RIGHT - PRIORITY ONE.*
- Find Raist, who is curled up under J's desk in typical "sick cat" hiding mode. He is lethargic and unresponsive, and whines instead of purring when I pick him up, which is REALLY off. (He is an obsessed purrloaf and usually goes off like a Harley engine if you even look at him.)
- Try not to have full-scale freakout and proceed to manipulate abdomen (nothing) and test blood sugar (slightly high but still well within normal range). Call vet, who says I can bring him in and drop him off and they will see him between appointments.
- Tell various meeting planners to Suck It and run Raist to vet.
- Have approximately 85% of a breakdown. damia wonderfully comes over on her lunch break and gives me hugs and makes sure I don't hit the last 15%.
- Get call from vet... just to say they don't know anything yet. But they'll call me again when they actually do. Thank them politely, hang up, and curse lengthily at inanimate objects.
- Fall back into psycho blame-pointing work meetings because at least it's a distraction.
- Watch more and more issues get heaped on my plate and realize I will have to pull an all-nighter to get them done before vacation starts.
- Declare that December can officially Fuck Off And Sleep In The Street(tm).
- Throw myself into fixing code bugs as hard as possible to avoid thinking.
- Vet eventually calls back. Blood & urine tests revealed that Raist actually was starting to have the same kidney problems, but they just BARELY started and since we caught it so quickly, are easily controlled with diet and a couple supplements. The horking is most likely just a stomach bug, but if he doesn't rally by Thursday morning, bring him back so they can do more aggressive scans to make sure he hasn't randomly eaten something blocking.
- Have small grateful weeping fit.
- Work randomly comes to an executive decision and declares an immediate code freeze for my team while other departments fight out their crap. Which means I am not only no longer required to pull an all-nighter, I am actually forbidden to work until after Christmas.
- Sniffle and wonder when the fuck I ended up in a Charlie Brown Holiday Special, what with the happy ending and making me realize how grateful I am for the things in my life and shit.
Attempted to give some of the "happy kidney" food to Raist earlier. He was disinterested. I decided to try and "get some down him." Let me tell you, there are few things in the world as futile and unfulfilling as attempting to force-feed a cat.
I eventually threw up my hands after having gotten approximately one-billionth of an ounce into him (and the remainder of the can on my jeans, in my hair, and up his nose) and let him sulk back to his chosen hiding spot behind a couple of folded card tables. I informed him sternly that I understood he was feeling poopy, but if he continued to not eat tomorrow he was going back to The Stick Things Up Your Butt Place What Smells Like Dogs. He grunted and loafed dismissively.
A couple hours later, I came by and asked how he was doing. He actually meered in response like normal, and started up the Harley purr when I reached back to give him scritchins. So I think he's still feeling like butt, but definitely on the mend. And if he hadn't gotten this bug, whatever it is, we might not have caught the kidney thing in time.
I guess this is the season for small miracles, innit?
*When his brother passed away due to kidney failure, the vet mentioned that it tended to have a genetic predisposition so to keep an eye out. I've been violently paranoid about it ever since.