Let me just preface this story of my Saturday by saying that I got up really early and started the laundry. Someone had left a load in the dryer overnight, so when I was drying my clothes at 8 am, I moved theirs into my clean hamper instead of dumping it on the floor or the gross shelf ledge, which I planned to put back in the dryer once my cycles were done. To thank me, my neighbor came in to collect their clothes, and decided to just also steal my hamper. My $7 plastic hamper from Target with the broken handle. Thanks, thanks for stealing my crappy laundry hamper. It really set the mood for the rest of the day.
Poor Poor Mr. Cat!
Yesterday morning David and I noticed Elwood acting pretty strangely, hobbling about the floor with his tail in the air, looking like he needed to go to the bathroom really bad, but he'd sit in his box for a long time with no results. When he started sitting on the grown sideways with his booty lifted in the air I sped him over to the vet and spend the next three and half hours and charged almost a months salary to help poor kitty go pee. He got little kitty x-rays and I saw in them his poor little bladder all ballooned up in need of relief. I felt so so bad for him, and can't imagine why it happened. It was also really hard to understand anything the vet was saying as he was really rushed and had a really thick accent, but what I understand his that Elwood was "blocked" and I'm just hoping hoping hoping this isn't going to be a much larger reoccurring problem. I woke up at 4 am worried about him, and couldn't sleep.
ALSO when I was there, for three hours getting sick from an endlessly looping promotional video in the lobby for one of those pet brushes that pulls gobbs and gobbs of fur out of their coats, a girl had a complete break down from what I assumed must be the death of her dog. She was sobbing hysterically and her face was all destroyed and red and puffy from crying, and after much hugging from her friends, which did nothing to calm her down, she was walked outside, where she literally collapsed onto the sidewalk, and laid on the ground, sobbing sobbing sobbing. I am not making fun of this poor lady, because it is very traumatic when your pet dies; I myself was really distressed over the poor little blocked bladder, but this spectacle really escalated my state of distress, as i sat waiting for testing to see if I was going to have to take him to an emergency clinic to to get a stone removed or some other radical surgery. (No stones, fortunately.) Then, this 50-something lady, made up to look like she was 25 in a red tight tennis top and red and white micro-mini skirt kept running in and out of the office in front of me with her leash and collar saying her dog wouldn't get out of the car. Ever time she moved, she flashed me with her huge lacy underpants, because the skirt was so short and she was tall and the underpants were not discreet or minimizing in any way. It shocked me, she had come to the vet to flash people on purpose, there's no way she didn't know what she was doing.
At any rate, it was a destroyed Satrurday. I had to leave him there 'til monday and he watched me leave in terror from his little compartmental cage on the wall, the biggest desperate eyes I've ever seen. I felt horrible, but glad I didn't leave town for the weekend and was there to take care of him when he needed it. Oh, kitty trauma!
