Watching the Watchmen
Rorschach is, as shown here, alert and in good health; he's limping far less poignantly the last two days than he was earlier in the week, and the slight swelling that seemed to be causing him distress in the left hindleg ankle has subsided.
Ten is making active social strides - he comes charging up the sidewalk and stops a foot from the door to sniff tentatively at an extended finger when GODDAMMIT, HUMAN, IT'S HALF AN HOUR PAST BREAKFAST food distribution takes place.
Kirk and Magellan are wrestling up a storm, with far fewer of Mag's ill-advised attempts to hump her; I'm waiting to get them fixed concurrently, so that they will both be tender from convalescing at the same time and less apt to rough-house... and they can both enjoy SHAME CONE, KITTY SHAME CONE, KITTY SHAMING CONE (hum the GoT theme) simultaneously.... that's a month off, since the vet won't fix cats under 6 months of age.
In non-cat news, I was sent home from the office yesterday because I need a permission slip to return to active office duty from the orthopedist, and his office apparently didn't fax the stuff to my HR department Thursday afternoon as expected. AWKWARD.
 Here, a term meaning "in the middle of the night, waking my ass up, and when I grab Kirk for punitive snugglings, she attempts to burrow into and nibble on my chin, which is also not conducive to getting any sleep."