Of cats and men

Well, my eldest cat Matilda (the one in my profile picture), has chronic bronchitis. This means M. and I must give him cough syrup at least twice a day. (And no, it's no mistake. Matilda IS a male cat, the mistake having really been made by the vet all those
years ago when I had already chosen a name). Anyway, have you ever tried to give a cat anything orally? Unless I've dipped my finger in
ice cream, Bailey's, or pizza my cat won't touch it.
It's about as easy as getting him to go where I want.
So...we get around the difficulty, so to speak, by injecting syrup down the poor feline's throat
with a syringe. (No needle of course). Problem with this is you need to be steel-nerved and quick...two things I definitely am not.
The cat will squirm, look horrified, hiss, and bite. My hand trembles and Maurizio yells. So imagine the scene, me sleepy as hell both morning and evening trying to coerce
the creature into immobility all the while wielding this syringe and praying I don't miss. My bad aim means I get a forearm full of strawberry syrup for breakfast, and I have to wash myself, the cat, and the bedspread.
On a good day it all goes down smoothly and then in the morning rush I probably lose the syringe. I've had to buy 3 new ones in as many weeks, so now I am
quite sure the pharmacist thinks I am a junkie. I got that look the last time I went in. The raised eyebrow "another one, eh?" look, sneaking a peek at my arms while
wrapping up my purchases.
Bastard. Now I am terrified of losing this one and so I diligently replace it into the box with the syrup.
On another note, it stopped raining and has turned into a warm day.
I have noticed that my overall patience with people has grown extremely thin. I have been counting to ten...a LOT.
Perhaps it's the fact that the general population is rude, ignorant, selfish, and stinky? Public transport and the supermarket have become real trials for me. I came this close to telling an old woman to fuck off today. She kept line hopping at the registers...and putting herself NEXT to me in line when it seemed that the one I was in was moving quicker. Finally I turned and bit my lip...but something came out anyway. "Which line are you in ma'am?" She stared back at me, befuddled, oh how I know and hate that look. "What does it matter?" she replied stupidly in a half-laugh. I wanted to say "It matters because if you move again I am going to shove my umbrella up your ass." Instead I found it was safer to say "I am the next in line here, and so I would appreciate you not queueing next to me. Unless you want to pay for my groceries."
Someone grant me the serenity to NOT kill all these people I keep running into.