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I got tired of the cat's mouth smelling like rot this afternoon. (His swollen cheek continues to swell. Inside his mouth is a red and leaking mess. Antibiotics do not appear to have helped, and if it continues like this, there is only so long he'll still be able to eat.)

So I took a measure of ouzo, some salt, added warm water, and held him down in the bath while I tried to wipe as much of the inside of his cheek with a clean towel and the aforesaid mixture as I could. Which wasn't much. Possibly I shouldn't have added ouzo, but I figured a tipsy cat is a cat who's going to sleep without hurting, and I daresay the amount that actually got in his mouth is not going to damage his innards more than the painkillers he's already on.

It's a fucking mess, is what it is, and worse, he's started limping and favouring his hind legs. He's only seven or eight, dammit. He's too young a cat to be an old crock.




I was invited, out of the blue, to a friend of a friend's dinner party last night. This makes the second Saturday night in a row I have been social until after midnight. It is very strange, and altogether unusual. I was quite baffled to be invited, to be honest: there were only seven people there, myself included, and all knew each other rather better than I knew 'em.

It is a weirdness.




Today, I'm wandering around the house, unable to concentrate on my study notes for the exam tomorrow. My brain feels all thick and scattered: I need to go for a run, do some exercise, freaking climb, but I can't scrounge up the necessary focus or willpower to do anything.

Well. Dammit. I suppose I'd better try.

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