At Least the Steelers Won

This week is not starting well. I was sick all weekend & am just now starting to feel a bit better. To give you an idea of how sick I was - I stayed at home on Saturday afternoon rather than go shopping as I had planned. And then, when I managed to actually get off the couch & haul myself to the grocery store, I decided not to get Krispy Kremes. That's right, I TURNED DOWN both shopping and doughnuts. It doesn't get more dire than that. So instead of buying shoes & eating Krispy Kremes, I spent most of the weekend coughing, blowing my nose & cleaning the house for a showing yesterday. (Because isn't cleaning exactly what you want to do when you feel like death on toast?) Oh, and trying to sleep. Between the wracking cough & that whole pesky trying-to-breathe thing, sleep has been even more elusive than usual.

As if all of that weren't bad enough, I think Bijou might be dying. I keep saying that to try to prepare myself for what I'm afraid might be imminent, but I know there's really no way to do that. I really hope that I'm wrong, that she's just going through some kind of phase ("kitty menopause", as Chris suggested). But over the past few days, I've noticed a change in her that mirrors how my first cat behaved right before she died. She just seems to be fading away right in front of us. Since she was adopted from a shelter, I don't know her exact age, but it's been estimated between 12 & 16. I guess that's a pretty good age for a cat, but I was sort of hoping she'd live a little longer. Like forever.