My Poor Sore Pussy

I woke up this morning with a huge scratch on my forehead and a hairdo that made me look like a crested eagle, according to Henry, who is studying birds at school.

"How did that get there?" I thought in my usual morning stupor.

That is the problem with drinking a glass of wine too many and thinking that your cat is your hairdresser. He started off quite gently but got a bit excitable when his claws got all tangled up.
Why haven't I managed to write my blog since May 13th? What do I do all day? Why don't I have a full-time job? What exactly have I achieved in the last month?

Pain management.

One evening, Henry came hopping and screaming out of the bathroom, where he was alternating between bathing and making full use of the toilet. He looked like a distressed walabi, and was clutching his private parts in agony.

The bathroom smelled delightful, thanks to my air freshener, which is a beautiful, natural blend of citrus fragrances. It was a veritable fiesta of freshly squeezed oranges and grapefruits.

But we had no idea why Henry was in such distress. He was hopping from foot to foot, still holding onto his particulars, as if somebody was about to cut them off.
"Oh you didn't spray it on your willy did you?" Jimmy eventually fathomed it out.

Henry admitted that he thought that you had to spray the product into the toilet, and had done so whilst still sitting on it.

I am writing to customer service at "Pure Citrus" to advise them that their product should carry a warning and directions for what to do if you spray it on your genitals as well as if you get it in your eyes, which incidentally Henry had also done a few weeks ago.

Last week was an eventful one for me and not in a good way. In fact, it was pure pain.

I spent all of Tuesday in the Sherriff’s records office and on the phone to various police departments in LA and other places, that I have never visited or heard of. Somehow my Driver’s License was suspended and I only found out because I had applied for my record so that I could drive for Emily's field trips. The suspension had been on my license for several months and if I had been stopped by the police, I could have been put in prison for driving on a suspended license and my car would have been impounded.

It turned out, after a lot of investigation, that somebody (probably the most intelligent and articulate staff at the Department of Motor Vehicles) had made an error of one digit in license numbers and some bloke in LA should have got the DUI (driving under the influence) on his license!

Anyway, hopefully that is sorted out now.

At the weekend, I had a conversation similar to the one below on Facebook ™

Me: My poor sore pussy! Urinary tract infection.

Me:If I stroke it, it seems to feel better.

A friend likes this.

Another friend: OMG lmao .... U r hilarious :0)

A different friend altogether likes this

A friend in England who has got out of bed (8 hours time difference) says:

Not nice, drink plenty of water and cranberry juice and keep stroking!!

A very rude friend in England, who has also just got out of bed says:

Well that's what happens when you do too much fanny fiddling!! Cranberry is recommended by our continence nurse consultant !!

(And for the Americans who are reading this, the word "fanny" in the UK does not mean "bottom," but rather "front bottom". Only women have fannies in England. We Brits think your word, "fanny pack" is absolutely hilarious. )

An old boss of mine (not old in age) joins in the conversation:  Adding to the general consensus of opinion, definitely cranberry juice and a hot water bottle between your legs (but be careful - no scalded pussies please!)

Me: I took him to the vet yesterday and the antibiotics seem to be helping. Apparently, it is difficult to get pussies to drink cranberry juice. But he has run off to catch some mice now.

Old boss says: Lol!! You really should be more explicit Susan! X
Me: I don't know what you are talking about!

A Welsh friend who lives here: Front to back dear!

My sister in law: my first reaction was one of shock as I couldn't believe your public notice and then I remembered what you're like and realised it wasn't you! x

Me: Yes, well frankly I am sometimes amazed by the things people write on Facebook.

A friend of a friend: I LOVE your sense of humor!
Me: Maybe the cat sprayed Pure Citrus on his dick too.

The pain of paying the vet's bill was relatively minor in comparison with the rest of the week's events.

(Apologies for the weird paragraphs in this blog. Something crazy and slightly painful was going on. A weird force kept grabbing my text and placing it wherever the fuck it felt like.)