Matt and I got a cat in the first days of January. I never really wrote about it... I never really write very much here in general. Her name is Moaning Myrtle, after the Harry Potter character. She is so named because she moans and howls when you poke her, lift her up, are not feeding her when she is immediately ready, or otherwise interested in getting attention.

The longtime goal was for her and Forty to mate. However, that will not be happening. A few days ago, Matt suspected that Myrtle (who is probably no more than 11 months or so) was pregnant, which means Forty didn't just jump on her back the last time she was in heat, like we thought. However, today, she was quite sick, and well, leaking. So after a visit to the vet's office, we learned that she has a uterine infection and will have to be spayed or else she will die. This will, of course, leave her sterile.

We hope that Forty will still love his barren betrothed.

I am livid.

Some fucking feline got into my room and defaced several of my CDs with smelly bodily fluids.

Not CDs laying on the floor, not CDs that are my fault for being accessable... CDs on a fucking shelf!

I don't want to have to kill them all. I really don't want to.

Luckily, the CDs are not damaged; the cases will need to be disinfected and the inserts and back cover will need to be thrown out, and we're talking the destroying of at least one Rocky Horror album material... I haven't gone through them all yet, but thank gods it was only part of one shelf. Still, some important stuff was in that area.

I swear, all cats suck right now.