I need to go home and give my cat a treat

We have a joke at dinner. Margaret used to say it was time to go home and let out her dog. But now we say I need to go home and give my cat more treats. Kitty has transformed to a lovely, acceptable cat. I enjoy her company, though I'm sure she has only advanced to being a cat who knows where the next handout of treats can be obtained.

I am very concerned about a new behavior. It is, of course, mostly my fault. If I get up in the night to use the facility, Kitty gets up, too, for treats. Now she is persistent enough to be in the vicinity of my feet, begging a treat. Unfortunately, it can be quite dark in the apartment. I have begun shuffling at night, never lifting my feet between the bedroom and bathroom, though it generally has been the return trip that is problematic.

One night, at the turn along the kitchen counter, I solidly encountered a solid impediment. I sent Kitty scooting, with a firm "No, Kitty! No treats now!" It probably will take one more warning to be effective. The good news is, she already knows "No!"

In other interesting news, the car is closer to being sold. I turned it over to my daughter, and she tells me it will be gone this weekend. I wanted the proceeds to underwrite Uber trips to doctor appointments. I actually have been asking my sister to help me with that, and she graciously stepped in. Yesterday she took me to the dentist for remediation of a dental bridge from my previous dentist.

I wanted an implant, and the doctor's song and dance talked me out. As I feared, a tooth has failed and needed pulled. My current dentist turned the remainder of the bridge to a cap for a single tooth, but now the implant need cannot be ignored. So a chunk of car will go for an implant, too.

Now that I have quit driving, my older daughter tells me simply to rely on family. And so far she has stepped up to the plate, too. She helped me unravel a mystery with the pharmacy. I could not get my drugs delivered by mail, no matter which buttons I pushed. Beth and a kind pharmacy assistant, also named Beth, worked out that one. 

But a certain tier of drugs would not go through. Since the pharmacy had no restriction on that tier, it must be on my plan's end. So, my job for the weekend is to be on the phone, learn about the restriction, and try and get it lifted. Groan. I hope it goes quickly. I really want to finish my red towels and start the yellow.