So, as Z. and I were waiting for the cab this morning, I decide to pick up the cat. This is something I do multiple times a day. I have a very good cat.

However, when she was about waist-high, she chose to freak out, for a change of pace. Not wanting to drop the cat, I hold on, so she doesn't fall. She goes for a second round of hurricane-force freaking, and I decide that yes, she will be fine if I drop her immediately. I go wash off the scratches on my left hand, and hmmm, they're a little worse than I thought at first. Only three of the ten are real winners, though. Also, they won't stop bleeding. Huh. Grab a damp red wash cloth, and hope it knits up soon. Z. didn't even notice until we got into the car.

That was about eight hours ago. I just reopened a couple of them for the umpteenth time. It's on a particularly flexible part of my palm that I apparently use for a lot of things.



A pic from four hours ago. It's slightly worse-looking now, M. can attest.
Also, the pic makes my finges look really short. They're normal-sized.

So, yes. Fun times. In a few, I will finally have M. bandage them up. I'm loathe to do so, but it's starting to get annoying.