[Deleted] Writers Block!
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
"Just blog about anything" They say. "Write whatever comes to mind."
Easy for Them to say.
Whatever comes to mind.
Okay. I'd like to thank whomever came up with this stuff. I don't know about the "Anti-Aging" part, but by Freyja, with a thick coat I can actually stay out for an hour or so without spontaneously combusting. 'Course, by "thick coat" I mean that the 8oz bottle is good for about four applications.
'Bout six weeks ago, I was walking into the house, when I noticed a scrap of carpet on the front fence. Being in a bit of a tidy mood, I walked over to dispose of it and discovered another kitten. It was flea-ridden and starved to the point that it didn't even make a sound or a move when I picked it up.
One day I must find the "Sucker Lives Here" sign on the front door and remove it.
About a week of touch-and-go there, and the sprite made a fairly impressive recovery -- enough so that I took him to the vet for the shots and other sundries that an eight-to -ten-week-old kitten requires.
Now, before we get into the meat of this story, bear in mind that the feline in question was -- at the time -- barely bigger than the palm of my hand. Got a mental image? Good.
So. I pack up said bit of fluff, and we show up at the vet's office, him being in full-bore Adorable Mode and being such a tiny little thing -- what could possibly go wrong?
Shows how much I know about cats.
Said vet looks over kitten, and makes a general statement to the point that it would be best for the other cat if we tested said kitten for feline leukemia. The vet goes further to assure me that this test "is nothing" and requires "just a bit of blood".
I thought it passing strange that the vet gently demurred in allowing me -- with several decades of experience in holding animals far larger than a palm-sized kitten -- to assist in this little blood-drawing experience, instead summonsing his aide who promptly gently took the little bit out of my hands, laid him on the steel table and proceeded to grab an amazing amount of the scruff of his neck.
My paw to Freyja -- there was more fur in the aide's fist than there was left on the kitten.
I was about to opine something along the lines of, "Hey, he weighs a pound and a half. Is this really ..." when I noticed that my kitten was making a new kind of noise. One that I'd really not ever heard before. It was an odd sort of noise, somewhat like a very small, very distant, monumentally pissed-off chainsaw. Running full bore.
I'm not exactly sure, but I believe that the translation of this is: "Now I am become Shiva, the Shatterer of Worlds."
Folks, when your housepet starts quoting ancient religious texts, rest assured that someones day is about to get Very Interesting, Indeed. Trust me on this one.
Well, the vet took a deep breath, leaned forward, slid the needle into my kittens leg ...
Have y'all seen Terminator 2? Remember the part where Ah-nold slammed the evil terminator face-first into the wall, and the evil terminator kind of shimmered and then his front moved to his back?
That little kitten promptly retracted all of his limbs and other assorted protuberances, rotated inside his skin, popped back 180 degrees out from original position and proceeded to enthusiastically bury five of his six ends in the vet's arm.
A long, shocked pause, and then the vet remarked, quite coolly and calmly -- as if, in point of fact, he didn't have blood dripping out from under an enraged black hairball attached to his forearm -- "I hate it when they do that."
Sayeth the aide: "OhMyGawd."
Kitten: "Mmmrrraaaaooowwwrrrr." Which, of course, translates as: "From Hell's heart I stab at thee! For hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee!"
The fact that my cat can quote Melville disturbs me more than an ability to quote the Bhagavad-Gita. Which probably says unsettling things about me.
Vet: "We're in, loosen the tourniquet. The tourniquet. Loosen the tourniquet."
Aide: "Sweet Jesus, you're bleeding!"
Kitten: "You cockaroaches! I bury you! You wanna play rough, okay! Say hello to my little friends!"
Vet: "These things happen, get the tourniquet loose or we're going to have to do this all over again."
Aide: "Got it!"
Kitten: "I can haz arteries, [deleted]!"
Vet: "That's probably enough. Get the vial off the end. The vial. Yes, the vial. For Christ's sake, don't drop it."
Aide: "Got it!"
Vet: "That's good. Get it to the lab. Sir, would you kindly help get your [deleted]ing cat off my arm?"
Bit of tussling later, and we've got one homicidal, yet terminally cute, furball back into the Cat Crate. Ten minutes later, the vet comes back -- covered knuckle to elbow in Spongbob Squarepants band-aids -- to announce that kitten is leukemia free and then squints somewhat woozily at the calendar.
"Well, he'll need to come back in three weeks for shots. Hmm. Linda! When's that snotty intern supposed to be in?"
"Monday through Wednesday for the next two months!" comes a bellow from the front desk.
"Sir, feel free to bring your furry little cusinart in on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday the third week from today."
Well, hopefully that broke the old Writers Block. We'll see.