Digital Bastard coughed up another pound. 202.5. Net loss 12 pounds.

First of all I am getting sick, and I am a huge baby about being sick. It totally sucks being a mom sometimes. You never really get to be sick. I mean, even if everyone decides that you don't have to cook or clean, no one else picks up that ball and runs with it. They'll go pick up some fast food and stack things neatly (maybe) until you are well enough to put it all away. Things that you do naturally, like wipe off the table after dinner, don't get done. So when you "get better," the house is ready for you to clean! The MOTH tries though. He did fill the dishwasher after eating the dinner I cooked. I HAD to cook tonight because if I didn't, no one would, and the chicken I bought at the MEGA store would get all slimy and stinky and the garbage doesn't get picked up until Friday so if I put it out in the garbage it would get all maggoty or dragged around by raccoons. ~gag~

What was my point?

Oh yeah. I'm getting sick. I've had laryngitis for 2 days and now my sinuses planning on exploding my head off of my shoulders. So that sucks.

THEN. I'm driving to work in the mighty sporty Caravan (with the broken passenger rear light courtesy of my dad, thanks dad!). I am not a distracted driver today. I have no food in the car. I have no coffee. The radio is off and I even have both hands on the wheel in a 10-2 position. Out of the corner of my left eye, I see a black streak. It's a cat. A black cat. And it is headed right for the road, in a suicidal frenzy he is headed right into my path. I can't veer to the left to avoid it. I am on a small 2 lane road, and the oncoming traffic is steady. I don't want to hurt kitty, but I am not going to die trying to prevent it either. I'm going about 45 MPH so the likelihood of stopping in time is, like, nil. Even if I managed it, the cars behind me would pile up, likely on my ass. Things aren't looking good for ol' puss.

I slammed on the brakes, and am ashamed to admit that I also slammed my eyes closed (what in the hell is up with that?). Anyway, they stayed closed until I heard the sickening THUD. Suicidal pussy mission accomplished.

I opened my eyes and tried to see in my rear view if there was bloody pussy left on the road. I couldn't see anything, except I noticed that the cars that were behind me all seemed to slow down or stop. I felt torn, confused, guilty, sick to my stomach. Should I have stopped? What the fuck for? I was pretty much in the country. No way to know which, if any, house owned this cat. And what would I do if I stopped? I sure as hell wasn't going to touch it for Christ sake. So I kept going. And I felt horrible. I wondered if there was bloody fur clinging to my tires. Would the pussy police stop at the school and inspect all of the cars in the lot?

"We followed the blood trail, and it lead us to this parking lot, Ma'am."

Shit.

I did my best to put it out of my head. I managed to steer clear of Jaws today, and my little Buddy was absent. SHIT!

When I drove home, I looked to see if possibly the carcass was still around, but I didn't see it. I was thinking that maybe I had gotten away with it. Maybe there was no bloody fur trail to follow! Maybe this little pussy was homeless and no one reported him missing. Maybe no one would ever know. Perhaps it never really happened at all! Yeah.

I pulled in the driveway feeling a little better, a little bit relieved.

When I opened the door, Heidi the cat sat there. Stiff. Erect. Glaring accusingly. I couldn't look her in the eye. Averting her stare I shuffled to my room, locked the door and drowned my guilt in a bottle of Nyquil. The late-afternoon, sniffling, sneezing, murderous guilt, coughing, achy, stuffy head fever so you can pass out and forget your troubles medicine.

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