The Dynamic Upsetters - Try Me /Make Myself Clear

I slept nearly 8½ hours last night, which feels medically suspicious. My body is clearly trying to send me a memo titled “Sit Down, Fool, your work is taking a toll.” And despite all that sleep, I still woke up feeling like I’d been lightly run over by a mid‑sized sedan. Cooper didn’t get his morning walk, which means he spent the early hours pacing around like a disappointed personal trainer who can’t believe his client skipped leg day.

It’s been another long, long week of work — the kind of week where you start fantasizing about taking a full seven days off just to lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling until your brain reboots. I need rest. I need recuperation. I need to be gently placed in a hammock and left there until further notice.

Yesterday was Princess Pussface’s vet day, which she took about as well as you’d expect from a cat who believes any enclosed space is a government conspiracy. The last time she went, the vet staff declared her “a regular Tasmanian Devil,” which surprised me because she is, in fact, the sweetest creature alive and Cooper’s ride‑or‑die bestie. But sure, call her feral. Whatever.

So I put her in the crate, and she gave me this tragic, Victorian‑child‑in‑an‑orphanage look, like I was escorting her to the gallows. I tried to reassure her, but she was fully committed to her role as “Wronged Heroine in a Period Drama.”

Thankfully, the vet met with me instead of doing the drop‑off routine. He said the odds of her having FIP like Tazzie were astronomically low — in all his years he’s only seen three cases. He was convinced it was allergies and honestly couldn’t believe this calm, polite little fluff was the same cat who tried to reenact Mad Max: Fury Road in his office earlier this summer.

She got a shot, I got meds to give her, and we went home. She was happy. The whole house was happy. And yes — keep the prayers up for her quick recovery. Princess Pussface deserves only the best.

Now, onto the Friday Soul Post: North Carolina Modern Soul, that sits well with my morning coffee. When you find records like these, you don’t ask questions. You just hand over the money and accept your fate like a responsible adult with questionable impulse control.