Okay, so I'm up bright and early this morning, showered, caffeinated, and dressed, ready to take my mom to physical therapy. Until. (insert dramatic music here) Jason took out the recycling. And I decided that would be a good time to sweep out the pantry where the bins are. And my back went into a massive spasm.
Seriously. I staggered into the living room to lay down on the floor. Jason, superman that he is, sprang into action got me up on the couch with a phone and an ice pack, gave me some ibuprofen and took my mom to her PT.
I managed to stagger around enough to let the floor guy in to do phase one of replacing the floor. And Loki got trapped in the laundry room, so he ran under the couch and was within ten feet of the LOUD air compressor that was firing the finishing nails (or whatever they use) into the flooring. He hasn't come out yet and I can't get down to look at him, so he could have died of fright for all I know.
My wonderful doctor called in a script for a muscle relaxer and Jason drove me up to the store to pick it up. So I'm thinking I've got about one hour of consciousness left.
Moral of the story: Never sweep your floors!
Sorry, no cat picture, I'm on the laptop.