Becs the Builder and a PS about Butchy

The Harmonic Convergence of Bathdom has begun. Of course at the least opportune moment.

I am still working on Caspar's project as a tester and daily run into things like not being able to save changes to the system and therefore am unable to test them. Funny how it works that way. The end date of the project was the next-to-last week in July. It got pushed back to August 1. Then it got pushed back to August 8. Now it is pushed back to August 15.

This is not good news.

All the new stuff for the new bath is ready, here, and waiting to be delivered. At one point, I was told that my bathtub - which was built when ordered and not just sitting around in some dusty warehouse - was on a train from Little Rock. I had visions of a private railway car like Mr. Vanderbilt's or Mrs. Astor's. Mauve velvet upholstered walls. Crystal chandeliers swaying. Dark mahogany trim. Peau de soie curtains. And my bathtub, sitting resplendently in the middle of it. That really was the first thought that came into my mind. Then again, maybe I've been spending way too much time in the fantasyland of the book(s) I've been researching.

The only thing I have to buy at this point are lights. Many years ago, I had thought that there would be a bath remodel at Casa Melancholia. I began gathering things like a towel rack, tp holder, hooks, a mirror and a small wall cabinet. I still have these things, down in the basement. As much as I would like to get new stuff, I am a) tired of choosing things and 2) afraid the money will run out before we get there.

Son of E left a very business-like message last night saying that the Dumpster will be here on Wednesday and I must be here with cash in hand. On Thursday, Son of E begins and completes demolition. On Friday, the tub, sink, terlet, etc. etc. will be delivered. I have the floor tile, need to go pick up the shower tile. I'm assuming that on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, Son of E will work his guts out. E will likely be here for some of it and I will be assisting by throwing the detritus of my old bathroom into the Dumpster. (This will require actual physical work from me. I'm afraid.)

I don't know how much further into the week after the work will carry, but I imagine there will be at least something to do with grout and then of course, comes the priming and painting. That much I can do myself.

Now I get to tell Fred, who has been busting my chops about finishing testing, that the day I had warned him about is here - in the week before testing ends. Just what I need - another black mark against my name.

Yes, I know it's not my fault that the server, the system, the programmer and the DBA have been f***ing off for at least a month now, but try to tell Fred that. Go on. Try.

Meanwhile, I'm going to find out if the system will be available for testing this weekend and if so, plan on spending most of my time at work, trying to get this #*$&* testing done.
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PS About Butchy

I'm worried about him. He used to live happily in the kitchen and was escorted to a litter box twice a day. For years, the system worked.

But now he's in renal failure and everything has changed. Everything. To the point that I nearly hate being at home.

He is restless. He is wandering. He is peeing on anything and everything. Last night, I threw away a pillow and blanky from the closet where Katy likes to spend her days because Butch peed mightily all over both.

And he wanders. He wanders and wanders. From living room to kitchen to living room to the study to the bedroom where the litter boxes are. Then into the living room, on and on until it drives me crazy that he just won't settle down.

I give him sub-cu fluids but probably not as often as he needs them. He is losing weight. When I hold him and pet him, I find scabs on him where the other cats have been attacking him.

Now that I write this all out, I see what it means. He's going, actively on his way out.

This comes to me from to time to time and I hold him and tell him all the good things I love about him. There is nothing that can stop this from happening. Taking him to the vet would be a gesture of faith and hope, but a gesture that would cost money I don't have. I really don't think at this point there's anything the vet can do. And going to the vet would only freak and stress Butchy.

And very little that I can do. It's driving me mad, even while I realize he won't be here much longer.