Toby is doing everything he can to make sure that I can't type, but I'm winning, anyway. He just left.
We've ended up with an outbreak of ear mites, and considering the number of cats we have (one shy of crazy) we're trying to work proactively. One of our cats, Tuffy, who acts pathetic and needy most of the time, appears to be suffering from them, but won't let us anywhere near her. She fights like mad. So, we're going to bundle her off to the vet next week and let them take care of her. She'll have a spa day, as we call it: she'll get a bath, nails clipped, all her shots, check for ear mites, and hey, maybe I'll have them express her anal glands, just for the hell of it.
My client has informed me that it's likely that I will have to incorporate myself in the very near future, for their protection and mine (or so they say). I've got a good lawyer and a good accountant (who told me not to even think about incorporation until my income reaches a certain level, but I guess this trumps that), so I'm going to put it in their hands and see what happens. From what I gather, it makes the process of filing one's taxes even more complicated than it already is. As it stands, tax season reminds me of that scene in Deliverance with the mountain men. Now I get to bend over the log twice. Great. Serves me right for wanting to make a living and pay my bills.
You know, daylight saving time really screws with my circadian rhythms. It didn't used to.