7/7/05 – Bitchypoo

a page dedicated to explaining who Mia is (in the form of linking to a page with, basically, yesterday’s entry on it), so if you want to link to it, feel free! We’re going to collect money until August 5th, so any amount you can spare will help a lot – we got a lot of $5 donations yesterday, and they really added up! As of this morning we’ve got $889.51, which just blows me away. I’d love it if we ended up raising $1500 or more. Thanks, all of you, for your donations. You have no idea how much we appreciate it – and there’s no doubt the money will go to good use at the shelter, with it being kitten season.

* * * From my comments: Would you be able to tell me in which entry you wrote about a restaurant you went to where the wait staff insults its patrons. Or perhaps just mention the name in a future entry? That was Dick’s Last Resort! They had some mighty good food, and the wait staff was hilarious. * * * So, Miz Poo. Remember how Miz Poo had the big swollen lip, and we tried many, many things to treat it, and everything worked for a little while, but nothing worked permanently, and the swelling – a rodent ulcer, it’s called – always came back? And then Fred did some research and started giving her oil every day, and the swelling went away, and there was a great deal of celebration. Then, after a week or so of Miz Poo’s lip being unswollen and healthy-looking, we noticed that there was something funny-looking going on with the left side of her lips (“side lip”, I’ve been calling it, which should not be confused with “butt lips“). It was all kind of scabby and swollen and really pretty ugly looking. “It’s cancer,” Fred said. “That’s a tumorous lip if I’ve ever seen one!” He’s never seen one. “Whatever it is, it’s nasty looking,” I said. He called the vet and made an appointment, and ended up taking her on Tuesday, the same day we found out Mia wasn’t going to make it. “This is going to be the shittiest day ever, isn’t it?” he said. “First Mia, then the vet’ll tell me that Miz Poo has cancer, and probably I’ll DIE IN A CAR WRECK ON THE WAY HOME, to round it out.” “Probably. Bad things come in three, you know,” I said comfortingly. But I was worried about Miz Poo, ’cause y’all KNOW she’s my baby. So Fred took her to the vet – our regular vet is in the hospital currently, and so there are a couple of 12 year-olds covering for him, and we wish our regular vet would stop his damn lollygagging around and get his ass back to work, ’cause we like him so much – and the vet looked at her, and said that he thought that she’d chewed on an electric cord and got an electrical burn. Now, no. Just, no. There’s no WAY she chewed through an electrical cord, because she’s not interested in the electrical cords, first of all, and second of all, if she’d done that, would we not have noticed? We would. And third of all, I went around the house and looked at all the electrical cords I could find, and there’s nary a chew-mark on any of them. So I am skeptical of this diagnosis. The vet prescribed some ointment that we’re to rub into her scabby, swollen, nasty-looking lip for the next few weeks, and if it doesn’t improve they’ll want to take a biopsy of her lip to test for cancer. (Which will have eaten into her brain by then, I’m sure.) We were talking in bed the other night about how veterinary medicine seems to pretty much be a guessing game, because animals can’t tell you “My head hurts and I keep throwing up”, or whatever, the way humans can, so vets have to kind of guess what’s going on, and even tests will only tell them so much. It’s kind of frustrating, to say the least. So now every morning and every evening Fred snatches Miz Poo up, and I rub a bit of the ointment on her nasty, scabby lip, which is far closer to the nasty lip than I wanted to get but, well. You know. The things you do for love! (I’d offer up a picture of the nasty, scabby lip, but Miz Poo won’t go for that.) * * * So, for someone who claims to prefer to blend into the background (as much as a funny-looking fat chick can blend, that is), I probably bought the wrong car for blending. I get, on the average, three or four comments a week about what how cute my car is. I got into a five-minute conversation with a woman as I was leaving the vet’s on Tuesday. She gestured to my car, said she was thinking of getting a cute little car like that, and asked how I like it. I like it a lot, by the way. The bloom is definitely not off the rose when it comes to my car; like I said, I grew up driving small cars and to be back in a small car is awesome. I feel more in control of the vehicle, for some reason. When I was driving the Jeep, I felt like it might roll over if I took a sharp turn (it never did, of course), but I never have that fear with E’gar. The only problem is that driving E’gar makes me want to drive fast, and I find that especially when I’m driving down deserted country roads, I end up going REALLY fast. Probably I should use the “cruise control” function to nip that in the bud. So anyway, this woman and I talked about the cuteness of my car for five minutes at the vet, and invariably when I go through the McDonald’s drive-thru (Oh, fountain Diet Coke, how I adore you!) one of the kids working there will tell me that they like my car. Hmm. Does the fact that all the kiddies like my smokin’ ride mean I’m driving a car that’s too young for me, and what I should really be driving is a very sedate sedan? Nah. * * * Currently reading: Blind Pursuit, by Brian Harper. Finished last night, staying up way later than I’d intended, even though I was so tired I couldn’t stop yawning: How I Stole Her Husband, by Liz Ireland. Good chick lit book; I didn’t expect to like it so much. I say that a lot, don’t I? * * * The kitten section. It’s the strangest thing – in the last week or so, the kittens have gotten friendlier. I mean, they were never unfriendly, but they didn’t much care for being held and snuggled, but now if you go into the cat room when they’re just waking up, they all come over to you (it’s like a kitty scene from Night of the Living Dead: “Snuuuuuuggles! Snuuuuuuggles!”) and take turns being picked up and petted and kissed and belly-rubbed, and while they’re waiting to be picked up they lean against your leg and look up at you and purr. They’re also purring a lot more than they were. Fred had mentioned a few weeks ago how odd it was that they didn’t really purr all that much, and it’s like they heard him and wanted to show him that they CAN TOO purr. Snoopy’s developed an odd little habit lately, too. If I’m holding him, he likes to twist around so he can sniff my breath. If I open my mouth, I swear he will get as much of his head into my mouth as he can, and he sniffs wildly, and then when the sniffing is done he’ll lick whatever part of your mouth is within reach. This is a little disturbing, because GOD KNOWS where that tongue has been. I don’t particularly want him licking my lips if he’s been doing some personal grooming – IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN – in the last, well, EVER. It’s kind of gross, but also cute. He’s a licker, that one. If he can’t lick your lips, he’ll lick your face. If he can’t lick your face, he’ll lick your hair or your leg or, basically, whatever he can. We need a little sign that says Warning: cat can’t hold his licker.