I am sick at home with the flu. Again. I've been out of action since Saturday morning. I finally set aside my disdain for all of the medical fraternity on Monday morning (only at my boss's threats to drag me to the doc, if it meant he had to toss me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carry me there kicking and screaming, which would have been mighty fun to watch since the advent of my weigtier middle, et cetera insistance) and went to get some meds. And a jobba* on the toeshie too. My boss's son's friend (only a little guy about pre-teen aged) just died from this flu on the weekend. Another middle-aged man in town (named Frenchie) also died on the weekend, also from this flu, so my boss aint taking any chances. Now, who's to say that taking one on the butt is so bad? I (almost) didn't even feel that one. Lucky for the nurse whom I'd accused just seconds before that I'd heard about her penchant for using butts as dartboards me. As you all know, I just luuuuurve getting needles stuck into me. Anyway, I must say though, that having this flu bug has given me lots of bonding time with my kitties. They love me. I just know it. They come running whenever I call them, they purr on me and smother me with loves and licks and adoring stares. Here's a pic of sicko me, holed up under my fave blankie in bed, chatting to my sister on my cell, book balanced in my lap and my kitties loving on me. All that was missing was a cappuccino. Otherwise? Pure bliss, baby. Sicko and all.
Above: Cassy on my shoulder and Jazzy on my book
Above: Little Jazzy
Above: Little Cassidy
Little Sleeping Beauty! (Jazzy)
*jobba = South African for injection, pronounced like "jaw" + "bu"
