Getting up at 7:15 on Wednesday morning to haul two cats to the vets, plus a 20 minute side trip to the grocery store is a couple of hours burned out of a day for most people.
I ain't most people. Hobbes is recovering faster from his surgery than I am. Though I'm normally a night-owl I went to bed at 8:30 pm Wednesday and slept until 11:20 yesterday morning. At 3:00 yesterday afternoon I crawled onto the sofa and slept until 7:00, and last night I was in bed at 11:00 and slept until 10:00 this morning.
Actually I'm not completely certain I'm awake now. I had a cup of coffee but it's noon and I still haven't eaten or had the first handful of the meds I take to stay mobile. (I'm not certain they are working as advertised!)
I'm the closest thing you can get to a zombie without the gore and hankering for brains. And I don't have the energy to hold my arms out in front of me like that, or walk stiff-legged. Are there geriatric mummies who sort of shuffle along bent over, bleary-eyed, mumbling to themselves?
On the bright side, the polecat/tomcat smell is down by 90% in here, or maybe I'm just too exhausted to smell it, but I think it's down. And maybe Hobbes is just subdued still from the surgery, though he is jumping around like always and had a fierce playing session with Smokey last night, but he's not as aggressive with those needle-like teeth and claws.
I am yawning as if I hadn't slept in a month. I am going to stumble out to the kitchen and find something I can eat without doing anything to it first, take some pills and maybe have a nap. Yeah, a nap sounds really good.