So ... tired ...

It's 4 a.m. and I am I so tired. Can't pull off these late nights like I did in college. I've reached that point of half-asleepness where everything becomes overly amusing. The Angry Beavers and CatDog are funny. Gah, my standards must be so low right now.

Fred came home from the vet today -- well, yesterday, I guess -- spayed, vaccinated, microchipped. She was pregnant (not fat or constipated, which were our first two guesses). Karl Marx sucks for getting my girlie pregnant. According to Cats for Dummies, the mating process begins when the boy cat bites the girl cat on the neck; the mating ends when the girl cat slashes up the boy cat with her claws. It is my sincere hope that Fred slashed the hell out of Karl Marx. He deserves it for propagating his kitty propaganda. So there.

Anyway, Fred's shaved and has stitches, and we were given two instructions: Don't let her make big vertical jumps and don't let her lick herself. Oh, um, okay. Sure. Easier said than done.

Paul and I have been taking turns staying with Fred to prevent her from licking and jumping. Jeremy says we're on KP Duty (Kat Patrol, he informed me). I've been on duty since 10:15 p.m. and I'm running out of things to keep me occupied. I've beat Tekken 5 on every character, watched too much TV, painted, and surfed the 'Net via my laptop.

There's not much left to do that won't wake up Paul or Fred. Maybe I'll defrost the freezer or learn to juggle knives.