georgejones has fuzzy bones

I went to pick georgejones from the vet yesterday. (i'm intentionally starting randomly for the amusement of Mawee and Deandre) . Unlike the Reynolds' (our beloved vets in Nashville and Cookeville and worthy of a blog post themselves) the Capeway Vetinary Hospital in Fairhaven, Massachusetts is frou-frou. No expresso and flat screen teevees, but they do do things like follow up calls and use the name of your pet. "So how is georgejones today?" they ask.

Buddy Reynolds, bless his heart, was doing great when he managed to call Baxter "Bractron" or something. I remember seeing Ursula's chart one time and saw that they spelled her name "Ersla." Anyway, this is the long way of saying they kept georgejones overnight just for havin' his little kitty balls cut off. (The Reynolds just gave you a limp, fresh- outta- surgery cat and would bark "ya know how to take them stitches out yerself, don't ya?")

So i went to pick up georgejones. I got there and someone said in a singsongy voice "ohhhh, georgejones is NOT happy!" The vet said "he's hissing at us." Someone else came out and told me "your cat is very unhappy." Yet another person told me "I'll go get him, but get ready: he's WILD!" They brought him out in a loaner cat-carrier because they were afraid he'd tear me up.

I heard him coming from the back. Wwwwarreeee. ouuuurreee---Psssst!----ouuurreeeeoww.
They handed him to me all crammed in that carrier and i held it up to my face and said "georgejones has fuzzy little bones!" He immediately quieted, made a happy little chirp and stuck a fuzzy paw through the bars and laid it gently on my face. The vet people looked genuinely amazed. I was very proud.


In other news:

Why i've been posting so much: In short, physical exercise done outdoors. Not only have i been posting a lot of stuff, but i've also been singing, breaking into short runs, and doing an occasional jig. And, of course, seeing the light at the end of this tunnel i've been in hasn't hurt.

Massachusetts winters are difficult. They are grey and rainy--especially here on the coast. Cold and grey and rainy. And the wood shop is in the basement. We don't have any windows.

It's amazing what physical exertion does for a person. The human body's need to move is just overwhelming. It's gonna find a way to get you busy--either through hints at depression or anxiety--it's gonna tell you it wants to be active. If it doesn't get this movement, then the brain shuts down. Like a kid in front of a television, we start eating obsessively just to perform an activity. We sleep more, but with less quality.

I'm always amazed when i'm physically active that, while i might go to bed earlier, i wake up sooner. Like i've only been sleeping 6 or 7 hours a night here lately. i was up to 10 hours there for awhile, and often needed a nap during the day.

Sometimes the fluffy, new age, liberal side of me wants to dismiss my grandparent's admonition of " get back to work" as just mean ole cold Southern farmer existentialism. Somebody dead? Get back to work. Cut off your finger? Get back to work. Cousin Lisa been goin' out with the colored boys? Get back to...Well, okay, so sometimes it's just denial...but you get my point.