Well, it's off to the chop house, people, and I'm happy to report there's a reason doctors like mine are called "sawbones," cos that's what the fella will be doing, cuz, sawing off me bones.
I thought about asking to take it home wrapped in a napkin or what, to see what kind of stock human bone makes, but I'm assured that they'll just pickle it in formaldehyde, which is a known human carcinogen.
On the cat front, Bandicoot has a cold and the runny nose and eyes have created a bacterial eye infection which necessitates a visit to his doctor that I will not be privileged to effect, being, as it were, otherwise engaged. Madu, with his impeccable timing, has discovered wild onions, which he eats right off the hillside, and, much as I hate to admit to anything so coarse, he's killing us with his farts. Fortunately the skunks appear to be mating in the gardens of La Casa de Los Gatos, so the greater, as it were, evil, drowns out the lesser.
As further evidence of Madu's impeccable timing, let me note for his fans here that Idiot Boy (also known as Mr. Single Brain Cell, or Resident Narcolept) appears to have sustained a deep bite on his face — one puncture right above an eye and the other close to the carotid artery. Look for a big-mouthed cat. It definitely looks like a cat bite rather than some other animal. His doctor's told him often enough NOT to get in fights since he has a tendency to lead with his losing side. (We refrain from mentioning that whichever side he leads with is the one that ends up with holes in it.) I am greatly annoyed about this as, instead of passing out peacefully from opiates of high quality after several weeks of precious little sleep, I will be worrying about that worthless bag of fur even as they saw my joints off.
It took ten balls of cotton wool and two towels to clean up all the blood, but the wounds look closed and he has orders to permit himself to be schlepped to the doctor together with his dear Uncle Bandicoot. About Zingiber we say nothing except to mention once again that he is the prime example of "stink outside the box." Gojira is well and feisty. Gustav is elderly but not above using unprintable language upon his fellow felines.
We give thanks to the deities of the feline persuasion that the little bastid has finally stopped chewing on his den-mates as if they were choice steaks.
I'll be back in 10-14 days (the knee has to be rehabbed before it can climb the House of A Million Stairs, aka La Casa de Los Gatos). Meanwhile, Ms. Manitoba, FoTPC, Sirenita Lake, have at it, y'all.
Thanks for your good wishes, one and all.