I went to the City Hall and got dog licenses today. No worries that Rusti's rabies certificate was from out of state. I paid my $20/dog and was on my way.
On my way home, my cell phone rang, and it was my brother P, dad to my niece.
"I was going to call you tonight," I said, pleased.
"Were you," he said. "I'm, ah, on the way to the hospital."
In order, I worried that a) he'd been injured at work/in a car accident; b) that something was wrong with the baby; and c) that something was wrong with his wife. It turned out it was c. A had been bleeding in the normal, post vaginal birth sort of way, and had almost stopped. Until today, when there was a substantial amount of blood. Her mom took her and the baby to the hospital (since P was at work more than an hour away), and they took her into surgery.
I called my other brother, who went to the hospital to see how things were going, and he kept me up-to-date. She's fine now, being kept overnight after having her uterus cleaned out. They have no idea why she was bleeding, but they're going to do some tests, blah, blah, blah. Scares the pure hell out of me. That baby deserves to grow up with two parents who love her. She already lost a grandparent who loves her.
Work sucks. Deadlines that are next week with PIs who are out of town suck. That is all about that.
Well, not entirely. I miss $office_mate more than I thought I would. I hope I get to see her soon.
Tonight, I cooked a nice dinner (I hope it heats up well, since ana's at choir), and decided after I ate, that I'd repot the rosemary plant we bought before Christmas. It was more than 3/4 dead, but there was new growth on this one part. I'd get rid of the dead stuff, give it some room to grow, and maybe it wouldn't have to be completely disposed of. I went down to the basement to get the potting soil and... Remember the 2+ inches of rain? A substantial amount of it ended up in our basement.
I spent the next 40 minutes vacuuming water and trying not to reinjure my back while emptying the shopvac through the bulkhead doors. Today, I really hate living in New England, in a 100-year-old house.
Advice Needed
My cat won't come from the attic, except in the middle of the night to eat and cuddle a bit. He's absolutely terrified of Rusti, my mom's dog. I miss my cat. I want him to come downstairs and meow at me to feed him. I want to hear him wandering around singing his little kitty operas.
The first time Rusti saw Silas, she chased him. I expected him to retaliate and swat her (like he did to Rocky), but he didn't -- he just went to hide. I've tried to re-introduce them, from across the room. Rusti was restrained, Silas (the cat) was in my lap. He bit me through my thumbnail (yes, as a matter of fact, it does hurt like a motherfucker).
What do I do? He's so scared, and it makes me sad. If Simon, the cat who died right after Thanksgiving, was still here, then he'd teach her right away who's in charge. Silas apparently doesn't have that confidence on his own. Rusti is crated while I'm gone.
Okay, an update. While I was writing this, Silas came down from the attic to the upstairs bedroom and was hanging out with ana. Rusti went up and, while ana's back was turned (trying to figure out where the leak is coming from), chased Silas. I realized what was happening and went dashing upstairs, put Rusti on the floor and wouldn't let her look at the cat. Then I held her butt first to Silas, who sniffed her, hissed, and swatted her. I hope she learned a little respect. But Silas is still terrified.
How can I get my cat back, without finding a new home for Rusti?
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