Hello 
I'm Siobhan Curran/Kisa Naumova, and this is my weblog. I tend to write about stuff like crossdressing, Macs, code, cats, wine and Second Life, but in general it's just an ongoing conversation about all sorts of stuff. If you'd like to know a little bit more about what this all is, I recommend starting on this page which has a little bit of info on who I am, and what I'm trying to do — or you could dive into my five years worth of archives if you like.
Otherwise, feel free to close this box and explore...
Georgie...
...has had a blood test. They're going to call me back later to tell me if they've been able to find out anything. The vet agreed that he was very thin — but his temperature is normal, there are no innards that feel wrong, he's not in pain, and despite being skinny, he still has a paunch.
The one thing she did notice that his teeth are a bit manky — but not manky enough apparently to be obviously the cause.
Oh, and his heart was going like the clappers (she let me listen, it was like "badumbadumbadumbadumbadumbadumbadum" — which is the best I can do textually to represent it).
So we'll see.
Ill or not though, it doesn't seem to stop him waking me up at 4 o'clock in the sodding morning to show me how well he can play with mice, does it? 
I was lying there, fast asleep, when I heard the sound of Tish coming upstairs, feeling very proud of himself. I tried to ignore him, figuring that he'd just settle down on the bed and wait for me to get up, when I suddely heard glasses being knocked over, and I feared the worst.
Sure enough, there, on the floor, surrounded by George and Biscuit, was a tiny brown mouse.
As soon as he saw me, the mouse scuttled into the pair of jeans that I'd dropped on the floor last night, so I went downstairs (all the cats followed: "Yay! Food Time!" ... "Not fucking likely kittens"), got a pint glass, came back upstairs, shock my jeans over the top of it until the mouse fell in, took him downstairs, and released him out the cat flap.
Sod next year's BLoggie — I should be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize for services to mice, I should 
...
Sorry, just as I was writing that, the vet called. It's not anything to do with his liver, but they're going to test for thyroid problems before they decide what it is. His protein levels are low (yeah? I could have told them that just by looking at thim) but they're not sure why yet.
I'm still leaning towards the teeth thing myself. He's a fussy little bugger, and it seems quite likely that if his teeth aren't right then he won't eat.
I dunno. Tell you what though, (and, before anyone says it, I know, it's not an issue, especially not when you love a cat as much as I love Georgie) it's bloody expensive finding all this out.
AliP
What, you mean like some kind of cat-mouse collaboration to wake all humans up in the middle of the night, so that they're tired and lethargic, leaving the way open for a feline and mousey coup to take over the world?!
Dear God — I'm scared now 
Damn, damn, damn! So I'm off-line for the holiday and what do I miss? Only the largest rantathon to rock t'inter-web in, oh, minutes (and that's a long time in cyber-space!) As my dear old mum used to say, "Damn and blast and bugger and spit!" [stomps off for a sulk...]
Alli' Cat'
[... sulk over.] A few comments on the discussions over the weekend:
The 'trapped lesbian' thing: I've thought the same, but packed it in a long time ago when I realised "It's just an excuse". I don't need excuses. Neither do I need to justify my 'deviant behaviour'.
Sorry, I don't know who said something along the lines of, "being a trannie doesn't define me", but well said. It's just one facet of my personality. I think the only acceptable label is "human being" (and that, as we all know, covers a multitude of sins.)
Alli' Cat'
You realise now, of course, that I'm going to get fifty million teenage boys coming here after Googling "trapped lesbian"? 
Insomnia
Listen — will someone please remind me tomorrow, that I promised myself at 5am this morning, that I would tell the story of The Time I Had The Abcess.
It's a really good one — a bit gory, but good. It kept me awake in my head recanting the story.
(before I fell asleep and dreamt the I was James Bond thet is — no realy, I did)
(damm my drunken typing)
Glad that George sounds that he's going to be okay, I'm sure that he'll pick up soon. Cats usually do bounce back quickly.
Now then, am I really responsible for "trapped lesbian"? — 
Nice to know that I was of some use — God knows what you'll do if shedloads of teenage boys end up here! lol
I had a cat once and funnily enough he never bounced back, although I did try throwing him against the wall a few times lol. Relax, I jest, good old Jethro, god rest his furry little soul.
Anyway, on the subject of your sick pussy (there's another one for the googlers ), it may well be a thyroid problem, my golden retreiver was diagnosed with an underactive thyroid when he started putting on weight and being lethargic and getting tired easily. The vet prescribed some drugs to 'get the balance right' and he's fine now (however it's costing me 60 quid a month in little blue pills). George may have an overactive thyroid which could explain why he's a bit skinny and hyperactive and why his little ticker is going like a PWEI drum beat.
But hey, what do I know?!?
Sparky
Yeah — hyperthyroid or something. That's what the vet said. Apparently you can do medication, surgery, or radiation treatment.
however it's costing me 60 quid a month in little blue pills
That's something I'm worried about — I'm going to have to get my insurance policy out and read it thoroughly, and hope it covers things like that. After Cabbage died (which is another story to tell one day), I got the other two insured straight away. And then added Tish when he arrived. £30 a month it costs me for all three, but if it does indeed cover medication like this, then it'll have been worth it.
Funny, looks like it's not just going to be me on pills.
Why did the mousey run from you, but not from the "natural predator" type cats surrounding it? Maybe all is not as it seems...
Could the answer involve cat-mouse collaboration in a secret mission to save the planet? Oh, go on, say it could.