As a citizen of this nation I feel that it is important to support all of our vets. The vet that seems to be getting the most support from me these days is my cat's vet. Just peer into my checking account. You will see that support.
My cat Lodger recently injured her paw. She is a cat that prides herself on doing her own stunts. She would swat at a bungee cord but would never use one. She could leap over Blake Griffin while Blake was jumping over a car. She is more Rachel Maddow than Laura Bush.
About two weeks ago she limped into our bedroom. Her right paw was bothering her more than our other cat Sniffles. If Lodger could talk I'm sure that "WTF" would be coming out of her mouth more than meows. In fact, I thought that I heard her say "WTF". Later in the day the limping had not subsided. I took immediate action. "Hey Wife, you need to take the cat to the vet!"
I have no problem doing manly duties. I take the trash cans out to the curb once a week. I tell the Jehovah's Witnesses at the front door to take a hike. I replace the bulb in the light fixture above the stove. Actually the Wife does that. I'm not good with my hands, ok!!! But, the wimp factor definitely applies to me when it comes to taking Lodger to the vet.
You have to understand that I am more connected to Lodger than my own shadow. When Lodger first wandered into our backyard looking like an Olsen twin, I nursed her back to health. She is a beautiful cat. She recently turned down July 17th on the cat calendar. Didn't want to do the photo shoot. She didn't have the time; as a few more twigs needed to be tossed around in the backyard.
To nobody's surprise, I was not handling Lodger's laboring well. I would have made a bad owner in a Lifetime movie about the cat's injury. My immaturity was not a plus right now. The Wife was the only logical choice to take Lodger to the vet's. "Call me, when you know something. Anything", I cried out.
While waiting for the call I held onto my blankie tightly and thought of all of my pets from the past. Especially our family cat Smokey. She lived a long life. She was an indoor/outdoor cat that lived for 22 glorious years. I think she went to the vet twice in her lifetime. She was around in the sixties and seventies. There were minimal pesticides then. No pit bulls. In her day there might have been one coyote named Charley that lived in the hills. Now coyotes own businesses along Ventura Blvd.. It is a different time.
The phone rang and I braced myself. It was the Wife. Surgery was needed for Lodger. Xanax was needed for me. The vet did his snipping and sewing. Lodger's paw repair was successful. Everything went well. Everything, except explaining to my cat that she would have to wear a cone on her head and be inside for two weeks. There would be no Lindsay Lohan - freedom in 2 days. Her incarceration would last dos semanas.
Lodger, by the time she had gotten home from the vet, had ripped off the bandage that was wrapped around her paw. The cone was another issue. She was acting like Brad Pitt in 12 Monkeys. Lodger, with her cone on, looked like an advertisement for Direct TV. This cone was not coming off. We had to barricade Lodger's cat door; so that she didn't exit to the backyard. Now, I definitely heard WTF coming from Lodger.
She seemed to have calmed down later in the week. I was fooled. I learned that she had ordered The Great Escape on Netflix. I had to remember one important thing - she is a cat. Not a dog. A cat. I keep assuring Lodger that it will be just a few more days until she is pardoned. Think Nelson Mandela and his patience. I keep telling her that she looks adorable with her bonnet on. Without hesitation she flipped me off with her recovering paw. If he would have been there - Lodger would have flipped off Mandela too.
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