Pain and blood and cat-hair

Tucker bit the fuck out of me tonight.

I finally made it back to the house to have a look at the floors, and to check up on the cats. Apparently, sometime during the last day or so, they staged a massive breakout. Near as I can tell, Stupocat, Anya, Mary, Marnie, Tucker, Bert, Phil, Margaret and Piper all managed to sneak out through a loose door on the porch. I collected up Bert, Marnie, Mary and Stupocat pretty readily, but when I went to get Tucker, I knew it'd be a challenge. He doesn't like me and really reacts badly when he has to interact with me, which he did earlier.

Anyway, I got him in hand, and he went fucking apeshit. Turned around and repeatedly bit my hands, gouged my arms, and howled. But in my best form, I didn't let go of him. After calming him down a little, I put him back in the kitchen. He had bitten through both of my thumbs, clawed two other fingers, the back of my hand, both arms, and scratched me. At one point I was bleeding so heavily my left hand was completely covered in blood up to the wrist. Just like in the movies.

I came in and soaked my hands in a pot of cold water in the sink, which, after I was done, looked like someone had thawed a steak in there. I am going to be in incredible pain this week, and I'll be surprised if I don't come away with half a dozen scars.

Tucker hid behind the refrigerator.

The floors guys didn't do what I wanted. I wanted high-gloss, and they left the floors in a satin finish, so they'll be getting a call next week.

The new Saab is nearly perfect. Picked it up this afternoon, and it is just magnificent. Smooth, calm, well-mannered, and the air conditioner is fierce. Part of the way home, it was pumping a steady ice fog out of the center duct.

I did go over to Penny's and help her move. She and her relatives had done most of the heavy work by the time I got there, but we took everything over and unloaded the truck at the new house. Nice little house, I think she'll be happy there and I think I'll like being there with her when we're together. She herself was frazzled and a little discombobulated. Everything was running fine. The Saab carried over mirrors and glass and other fragile stuff. I'd be talking to her right now, except that when she sent out her new phone number, I think she fouled it up, because it's a wrong number. And of course, she turned her wireless phone off.

Why do people do that? Why have it if it's not going to be on?