I got my orders from my doc yesterday: Plant my ass somewhere, ice the knee, and take anti-inflammatories until I get an assessment from the ortho doc.
Which isn't until Tuesday.
Now, sitting on your butt, watching TV and movies, reading books, pushing all the boring drudgery of chores off either to another day or another person may sound like fun.
But it isn't. After the first four hours or so, I'm wondering if I still have my crutches from my last knee surgery. That's technically no weight bearing, right?
And of course Thor knows I'm not supposed to get up because he is a cat and cats freaking understand English and are psychic, so he goes as far away from where I am as he possible can and starts up with his pathetic I'm probably dying but you don't care meow, knowing full well that I will only be able to tolerate about five minutes of it before I have to get up and hobble down the hall where I will find him belly up, maximum cute face on, paws kneading in the air, purr loud enough to be heard next door, his eyes begging me to play with him.
Thor sez: Like this?
Loki, on the other hand, is a good bed/couch rest cat. He will curl up beside me and lick my thumb until the skin is peeling off and I have a dozen pin-prick holes in my flesh from his claws.
Loki sez: What? I like to lick your thumb.