Upon looking at my stats this morning, I discovered that someone found my page by searching on "Ass Epil Stop Citrus". You’ve gotta wonder what exactly they were looking for.

Another someone (or perhaps even the same someone) found my page by searching on "Inserting tampons, pictures of." Okay. Um, I don’t think anyone would want to see that lest they be blinded by the horror.

Man. I think I’m going to smack Fancypants. He keeps letting out his whiny, high-pitched meow and goes prancing back and forth giving me mournful looks until I open the back door. Of course, it’s 25 FUCKING degrees out, which is too cold for his fancy ass, so he sits on the couch across the room from the back door and stares out the door. And when I get cold and shut the door, he starts again with the damn meowing and prancing. Bastard.

So, speaking of cats, I walked into the bathroom yesterday morning and saw Spanky squatting on the rug that sits in front of the shower as if he were trying to pee. This came as a surprise to me, because he’s usually such a Good Boy.

"What the fuck!" I bellowed, and swatted at him with a towel. He went running, and I gathered up that rug and the one that sat in front of the tub, put them in the washer, and thought no more about it.

Last night as we were watching The Shield (which I’d taped Tuesday night), we heard the sounds of one of the cats messing around with the plastic Target bag we left on the library floor. Fred glanced over and said that it was Spanky. A light went on in my head.

"Could you check and see if he peed on the bag?" I asked. Fred went and looked and said that there were a couple of drops of cat pee on the bag.

Cat pee, by the way, is the vilest-smelling stuff on this planet.

"I think he’s got a urinary tract infection," I said. I pointed out the evidence – the peeing on the bathroom rug, the peeing on the bag, and the remembrance that someone had peed on yet another plastic bag (shaddup, we like to leave the bags on the floor for the cats to play on) Monday or Tuesday, when we’d assumed Tubby was the rat-bastard who’d done it.

We discussed calling the vet’s office first thing this morning, I pointed out that there was no way I was ever going to get Spanky in the cat carrier, and then I started thinking about what it feels like to have a urinary tract infection, and the fact that he’d no doubt been suffering from it for at least a few days, and felt pretty bad for him. Which is when I made the suggestion that we cart his ass to the Animal Emergency Room in Huntsville.

That’s right – one of the really cool things about Huntsville is that there’s an animal ER which is open every night from 6 pm to 8 am.

Fred hemmed and hawed and called to see if they’d prescribe medicine for Spanky without seeing him (they wouldn’t), and how busy they were (not very), and with a little pushing from me, he reluctantly agreed.

That’s twice in one week we actually went OUT of the house after dark. I believe that’s a sign of the Apocalypse. You have been warned.

At 7:40 or so, we left the house with Spanky trying to figure out what was going on (I was licking Daddy’s cereal bowl, and he GRABBED me and put me in this box. I don’t like this box. Hate the box….. I’ve always been in this box. My entire life, this box. I’ve never been anywhere else. It’s a nice box.). Unlike Miz Poo’s incessant howling whenever she’s in the carrier, Spanky only put forth a few tentative meows during the trip.

We got to the ER at almost exactly 8. There were only a few people ahead of us, so we sat in the waiting room. I filled out the paperwork (and forged Fred’s signature, as I am prone to do), and we waited. After a few minutes, someone came to the door and rang the buzzer (you have to be buzzed inside, because the ER is in a pretty bad neighborhood). Someone who worked there let him in, and he stepped inside with an empty carrier.

"I’m here for the duck," he pronounced.

I looked at Fred, who had a shit-eating smirk on his face, and I got a sudden image of a duck wearing sneakers (like the one that was born with no feet – or was it a goose?) plodding around quacking "AFLAC. AFLAC.", like in those annoying commercials.

As the duck man was talking to another woman who worked there (I’m a tad fuzzy on what exactly the job titles were), a man holding a dog wrapped in a towel banged on the door. We later found out (Fred asked the vet) that the dog had been attacked by a pack of dogs and, as the guy put it, "Ripped open." By the time we left, the dog still hadn’t stabilized, and they didn’t know if he was going to make it. Poor dog.

Anyway, they eventually brought us back to an exam room, where they took Spanky’s vitals (he weighs 10 pounds), and we sat and waited for the vet, listening for details as the duck guy talked to one of the vets (we couldn’t really hear anything). Around 9, the vet came in and checked Spanky over, then recommended an x-ray to make sure he didn’t have any kidney stones (Fred was too afraid he’d look like a cheap bastard to say no. Hee!). They took him away, did the x-rays, and (no surprise) he had no stones. We got to see the x-rays, though, and it was cool to see all his internal organs, his cat food-filled stomach, and his intestines, packed full (as the vet said) of gas and stool.

That’s our boy.

They gave him a shot, and gave us medicine to give him twice a day which Fred had a hell of a time getting down his throat this morning, and we were on our way home by 9:30.

At 7:37 this morning, someone from his vet’s office called to see how he was doing. What’s up with calling someone that early? Didn’t anyone’s mother teach them not to call before 9 at the earliest (and preferably 10)? Hmph.

Friday Five:

1. What is your favorite time of year? It used to be spring, but as I’ve lost weight, I’m feeling cold more than I used to, and I’m very eager for summer to get its hot self here.

2. What is it about your favorite season that, well, makes it your favorite season? The heat. And the flowers. And being able to leave the back door open all the time so the cats can go out back and won’t bug me to open the door for them. I’m hoping to talk Fred into installing a cat door with a flap in one of the windows so I don’t have to deal with flies coming in by the droves.

3. What is your least favorite time of year? Winter. Brrr. Yeah, I know you people who get assloads of snow are rolling your eyes at me, but since I moved to Alabama, I’ve become a big wimp about the cold.

4. Do you do anything to celebrate or recognize the changing of seasons? Not a damn thing.

5. What’s your favorite thing to do outside? I’m not much of an outdoors person, but I like doing the occasional puttering around outside, planting stuff, and sitting in the sun and watching the cats chase bugs and each other across the lawn. This weekend, we’re going to go to Monte Sano state park, eat lunch, and do a little hiking. At my suggestion! Will wonders never cease?