I'm going to stipulate that henceforth everything I write will be worthless to the vast majority of visitors to this site. But to those who are living with cats, perhaps - just perhaps - there will be a lesson in all of this. And so I continue unabashedly.

To recap: I became aware about two months ago that I could not breathe through my nose. Also, I was annoyed, and the annoyance manifested itself as an itching sensation on all exposed skin as well as within the breathing apparatus. Much sneezing ensued. On top of all that, I was generally pissed off all the time, especially when the three cats who shared my small living quarters exfoliated in my general direction.

I went to an allergist doctor, who determined I was uniquely allergic to cats, so much so that the advice I was given was, "Damn you, man, get rid of the cats!" In addition, I learned that the cat allergies had been causing mild depression for many years, resulting in the crankiness which is the raison de etre of this blog you are now reading.

Being as how the women I live with, who own said cats, view said cats as integral members of the family, I could not easily press for their removal. Indeed, even suggesting their removal evoked piteous cries of anguish.

This left me with the choice of riding out the physical afflictions to myself, or leaving my household in a state of wailing grief. I chose to tell the womenfolk, "You can keep your cats, and I will seek medical treatment so as to use my nose again."

Well, the meds worked nosewise, but opening up my breathing passages totally exacerbated the allergy situation. Instead of feeling blocked sinuses, I now felt a burning, polluted sensation every time I breathed. The entire house smelled toxic. My lungs and throat burned, and eventually I developed an overwhelming weakness in the neck and throat muscles.

When I woke up this past Saturday unable to move my head, I was compelled for reasons of survival to move myself out of the house to an "extended stay" motel operation. And here I sit: finally able to breathe again, and spending money on accomodations. This is not money wisely spent, by a long shot. It's money down a rathole, really. But after two days I can breathe again without the assistance of the hideous, mind-infesting meds that were given me to allow me to exist among the cats.

The visit to the doctor today was enlightening: My head and neck problems are not the result of infection, but appear to be the result of extended muscular stress. Apparently, I was unconsciously tweaking with every breath, and the cumulative effect was to strain the muscles in my neck to the point that they could no longer do their job.

The doctor's order was 1) you cannot live with cats, and 2) you need to relax those muscles. He gave me pain killers and muscle relaxers. It worked, and I can turn my head again.

So now I'm sitting in a motel, breathing nicely, able to rotate the head at about a 90 degree angle in either direction, and wondering how I will ever be able to move back into my house which is a cesspool of dander and fur.

There is no clean resolution to this situation. All I can say is, if you sneeze when a cat invades your personal space, then by all means do not bring cats into your home. The repercussions are just too great.