Is It Me?

Because if it is, just tell me. I can take it. Do I look like a total shit-for-brains idiot? Is "stupid" tattooed somewhere on my forehead where only others can see it? Am I signing "I'm a dumbass" when I talk expressively with my hands? Is it the rack?

Really. I really want to know what it is that makes some people assume that I take the short bus and eat mud pies while sitting in the front yard in my underwear.

I had to take Henry to an avian vet here yesterday, and even though he is a near perfect specimen of the Amazona aestiva species, at the perfect weight, perfect plumage, and in perfect health, the fucktard vet felt compelled to tell me how to feed my own perfect fucking bird.

The 11-year-old bird I have taken care of for over 10 years. The bird who in all those years has had no health issues, not one problem whatsoever. The bird who every time I take him to his usual vet who's known him since he was hatched, RAVES about his great health and feisty attitude.

Really? You think there's something I'm not doing right? Tell me what you think that is, and I'll gladly reform my ways. No? Nothing to say on that topic?

So tell me then, why the fuck do you think you need to stand there and tell me how and what to feed my perfect goddamn bird when you just told me you usually don't see birds in such good shape? And after I just told you I feed him the best food on the market, which you can't even get in this backwater country so I have to ship it in from the States?

It's one thing to remind me about what to do for his good health - it's another to stand there and lecture me like I just picked him up at a swap meet.

How dare you. You don't know my life. You don't know anything about me. You just examined a beautiful bird in perfect health and now you think you need to tell me how to take care of him? You pompous asshole.

Here's a tip - when your head is that far up your own ass, don't talk. Please. Just don't. Nothing you say will make a damn bit of sense with all that shit in your mouth.

And you know, except for this one thing, this one thing that got so far under my skin I'm twitching, he seemed like an OK guy. I'm sure he's a good vet and he does good work. But why the fuck does this happen? I'm so tired of it.

Should I be cold and standoffish instead of easygoing and congenial? Would that make people assume I'm at least intelligent enough to take good care of my pets? I'm starting to think that might be part of it.

Maybe because I'm nice, people assume I'm like the slow kid on the city bus who talks to everyone who gets on or off. I can be an asshole, believe me, it's no trouble. Lots of other people do it and perhaps they've achieved great success as a result. Maybe that can be my "something new" for June.

Or, perhaps I should embrace this as an opportunity. If I get people believing that I'm a total retard, maybe I can start taking advantage of them in all sorts of ways. That could be a solution to a few problems. Maybe I could qualify for disability. Get a scooter paid for by Medicare.

Cat Lady Goes to the Vet

And what does she wear? A white t-shirt. Because I'm the crazy cat lady and I don't care how much black cat fur ends up all over me. I don't mind walking around with a sort-of black angora shirt with tufts of hair drifting off of me into the breeze.

It was just a simple trip to get their vaccines updated and the requisite paperwork to import them into Canada, but after what Ninja did, I think we might leave him here with a bag of food and a deck of cards.

He's 60 years old in cat years and it shows. What a ferocious, cranky asshole he's become. Couldn't weigh him, couldn't check his temperature (in the dignified way every cat loves) and almost couldn't get the shot in his leg.

As he lay there on the table, scruffed to the limit with a towel over his head, he suddenly grew four extra paws with straight razors at the tips and his teeth were ginormous. He almost chomped me twice and I had to apologize profusely for my big, angry retarded cat ass.

The vet and the vet tech backed away like, "he seems fine, bye!" Meanwhile Neo, the street-tough thug, was all sweetness and love, meowing calmly as he explored the exam room and all its surfaces. He didn't flinch when he got his shot and later rubbed against the vet's legs.

The best part of the visit was the small bottle of kitty tranquilizers they gave me - some for them, some for me - for the drive north. We very well may drug the cats, mainly to see how they behave all doped up, but it might make their trip a little less stressful. I'll want to put a gun in my mouth if I have to hear 16 hours of nonstop meowling.


Neo & Nikita, inspecting the equipment


Neo, thinkin' about dinner


Stack O Cats

p.s. I would like to add that it's all David's fault for collecting cats like souvenir mugs. I happened to find a stray one day, but the other two were intentional "go out and adopt another cat" acquisitions. But who do people point and laugh at? Me.

Update:
Everyone seemed fine yesterday, then this morning, little Nikita didn't get up for breakfast. She stayed on our bed all morning and into the afternoon before finally getting up around 2pm to slowly amble into the kitchen for a nibble.

She looked like she hurt all over and ate only a few bites before heading right back to the bedroom to where she spent most of the day.

I followed her and massaged her a little, checking the back leg where they injected the vaccine. She mewed loudly at that - she wasn't a happy kitten.

I called the vet to find out if hers was a normal reaction to the rabies vaccine - she's not reacted like this before and with only a few days before we move, she'd better be OK.

They called back and said she was having a "borderline normal" reaction, but for next year's vaccine, it might be a good idea to give her some Benadryl before she gets the shot.

Really? So, she's already having trouble with the vaccine, which is administered "one shot per cat," not adjusted for weight differences, and you're telling me I should put additional substances into her tiny body before you shoot her up with too much of the thing she's allergic to? Really?

This is why I don't like taking healthy cats to the vet. Sure, sometimes it's necessary, but like human doctors who are happy to hand out Rx meds like candy, most vets don't seem to care much about how they're treating different animals - just slam the shot in there and if that doesn't work, throw another chemical down there to even it all out.

No wonder Ninja wanted to rip her hand off - maybe he's not retarded after all but some sort of idiot savant with the ability to sense quackery from a mile away.

At this point, I'm happy to report she's doing much better. Stupid shitty vaccines, and for cats that are exclusively indoor cats and well cared for, they definitely do not need annual shots, no matter what the vet says - even mainstream Prevention magazine agrees.

Because I Don't Speak Cat

I had to take my baby kitten to the vet today because she wouldn't tell me what was going on with her. She was fine yesterday - playful, healthy appetite - her very normal, sweet kitty self.

This morning, she didn't get up for breakfast, something she (and the boys) are always excited about, because they get Greenies treats with their food. And she spent all day at the end of our bed where she slept all night.

Rather than take any chances, I took her in. I hope it was worth the turmoil. Some might think me a bad mother, but I don't take my kids to the vet very often - hardly ever, really.

They're exclusively indoor cats, we feed them the healthiest food we can find and they're well taken care of. And thankfully, being the mutts they are, they have hearty little systems and they're all still young.

But Nikita sometimes eats things she shouldn't, like strips of paper, carpet fibers and now & then, she tries to eat my hair. With her occasional cookie-parking, I couldn't help but wonder if she ate something and was in trouble.

After the undignified temperature taking procedure by the technician, the vet came in and started the exam. Then they took her in the back to get a blood and urine sample. While waiting, I heard what sounded like a wicked cat fight in the back and I wondered what they were doing to some poor cat. Then I wondered, could that be my sweet little kitty who still meows like a kitten???

Annnd yes, it was. Today I saw my loving baby turn into a hell cat, ready to kill anyone in a white coat who came near her.

After the first time they tried to take blood, she put up a great fight and they backed off. Then the vet came to talk to me & told me she (the cat) had reached her limit for now, but they'd try again in a little while. I asked her to please continue in the exam room with me.

They brought her back in and I helped keep her calm while they took blood from both her back legs, because the one they tried the first time had a smaller vein and they weren't getting enough. Ugh. Then they gave her subcutaneous fluids. Then they gave her a shot of antibiotics just in case, while we wait 24 hours for her blood work to come back.

During her struggle in the back she tore a claw, which was bleeding by the time they brought her back into the exam room. I can't imagine how frightened she must have been. I'm so, so sorry sweetie. But what else could I do? I don't have vet care facilities at home, nor do I know anything about veterinary medicine.

After her horrible ordeal, she zoomed back into her carrier and as soon as she was inside it she turned to kill anything coming near her. It was scary and impressive. My little fizzle whisker, squeasel, baby kitten sweet Nikitakita, a crazed vet killer. You made mommy proud.

And now we wait to see what the blood work and urine tests have to say. I say there has *got* to be better ways to treat small animals in this day and age.

What was great to see was as soon as we got home she made a beeline for her food dish and tore through a good portion of kibble and later, a small amount of yummy wet food and she's kept it all down. I think she'll be OK. She has to be.