crschmidt: (gun)
moose got outside. moose had a tussle with the local dog (in-law apartment owns said dog). moose escaped up tree. yay moose.

moose could not get down from tree. fire department said "You think we're doing *what* with a pissed off cat?" and apologized as they went away.

i climb tree. 35ish feet up. (I was roof level of our house.) i attempt to retrieve moose. I suffer one scratch/bite fest. I survive, and resolve to get moose if it kills me.

It did. after a second round, i decide that being in a tree, 35 feet up, with a hand that has 3 puncture wounds through the wrist and is rapidly becoming numb, it's time to give up. The cat is scared to death and I just can't do anything anymore. I made it down -- barely. I was feeling nausea and almost puked when rinsing the blood off my hand. It hurt. a lot.

I go to the ER to get it looked at. (Antibiotics and antiseptic wash.) Kristan, emmy, jenn stay home. Moose eventually falls out of tree. the poor guy hit a tree branch, and a fence, before hitting the ground. I can't imagine how much that must have scared everyone watching.

I'm so sorry he's hurt. He's at angell: overnight stay. radiology in the morning: too hyper for it tonight, they'll have to sedate him. He was in shock when they brought him in. He's stable, but not in good shape.

That poor cat.

I really want to kill the dog. I know that moose was not supposed to be outside, but that dog... sigh.

Had I been 15 seconds faster, i could have gotten the dog away from moose. (Who did a kickass job defending his turf.)

Had I been thinking enough to bring the cat carrier with me, I might have been able to get him out.

So many things i might hahve done.

my right hand is mostly unusable -- or at least, its slightly usable, with pain.

I'm behind on work and have a 2pm job interview with OASIS tomorrow.

That poor cat. That poor fucking cat.
crschmidt: (Default)
So, we've moving to Cambridge today. The movers have already left the house with all the furniture, leaving Jess behind to pack up the leftovers. (I'll be going home over lunch to help her out with that.)

In the process of the movers moving stuff around, we apparently lost Tony. Tony is the cute almost one year old kitty who licked my eyelid to wake me up this morning.

I hope to God he's okay: He has never wandered very far before. I worry that he's not: We live by two relatively busy streets, and we've lost two cats to traffic in that house already.

Keep him, and the Commune, in your thoughts as we move into the Commune 2.0, in Cambridge, MA this weekend.

August 2017



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