I was, as they say, driving the porcelain bus last night, although given the state of our toilet I would not, even in the sweaty state of light-headed urgency with which I crawled down the hall to the bathroom . . . well, I wasn't so sick that I would heedlessly put my head in that thing and grab the sides. Yuck. So I did what I did back in March when the plague of vomit first put its jack-booted heel on my neck, except that I didn't try to throw up in the sink whilst shitting my guts out into the toilet. I grabbed Jackson's potty (which makes an adorable little whooshing flushing noise and then plays "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," and if you want to fall down and die of cuteness you have to come over and see Jackson dance with happiness while his potty sings), and barfed into it, keeping my butt securely on the big, porcelain, grown-up potty all the while. Maintaining the not-really-pristine environment that is my bathroom, but at least not making a wretched mess like last time.
It's also a good day to be home sick because we got a new cat yesterday and someone needs to be around to act as cat referee. Jack took Jackson to the animal shelter after school and came home with Bosco. He has long black hair and a big pot belly and a feather-duster tail and a handsome face and he is, as Jack says, older than dirt (about 14 or 15, the shelter ladies weren't positive -- this is the big difference between having a kid and having a pet: by the time the kid is three or so, he will know when his birthday is and tell you about it way in advance because he wants presents; but no matter how you train your cat I will bet you $1,000 that your cat cannot even tell me its astrological sign, and no fair tattooing it or putting a groovy little astrological medallion around its neck).
Anyway, it's a good thing to adopt an older cat, but it's especially good if you already have another older cat because older cats are more respectful of territory than kittens. Kittens prance around heedlessly expecting love from everybody, and kittens get no love from my old Kitty who I've had since 1988 and whose territory this whole apartment is. But she runs away from Jackson, and nothing will break your heart like a little kid whose pet doesn't like him. Fortunately, Jackson and Bosco seem to have hit it off, and much petting and snuggling has been observed. Bosco's first whole day alone at home has been rife with little run-ins with Kitty, at the food bowl and litter box and whatnot, so I'm glad to be here in my jammies drinking tea so I can help negotiate Geriatric Cat Detente. Other plans: painting my toenails, experimentally eating a cracker, more napping, and Birdcage!