If you don’t want to hear about my cats, now would be a good time to stop reading.
Friday night I had it all planned out. P.I.C. and I had decided that we were going to do happy hour. After some discussion about whether to do it “classy” (i.e. a fancy new martini bar) or “dirty” (i.e. some college dive) we decided on classy, as we were both dressed nice that day. No problem. Meet him downtown at his house and we’ll walk to our chosen location(s). Drink copious amounts of delicious beverages and walk back to his house. It’s easy…almost TOO easy.
Did you know ivy is poisonous to cats? I did, but I stupidly figured that since the cats hadn’t ever bothered the ivy plant BEFORE, they would continue to ignore it. Oh no. Not Miss “I Eat Everything I Can Possibly Find”. Especially leaves. She shakes the ficus tree so that more leaves fall for her to bat around and subsequently eat. Because she just doesn’t have enough toys. Oh wait – she ate her sparkle balls as well. So I get up Friday morning to see that she’s puked in about three places in the house. This does not bode well, because the last time this happened (last month), it was because she ate a styrofoam berry and it was blocking her stomach. Dr. Karen to the rescue! Needles! X-Rays! Barium! A night at the vet hospital! You’d think the cat would have learned. But no.
So I had my mom go check on her during the day, and she reported back that as soon as she walked in the door, the Baby Kitty yakked right in front of her. Super. So I left work and went home so I could take her to see Dr. Karen. Needles! X-Rays! IV of Fluid! Medicine! Karen asked Baby Kitty if she wanted to stay with her or go home. The cat looked at her and then bonked her head against her travel crate, so Karen let her go home. She’s not smart enough to not eat poisonous plants, but she apparently knows she doesn’t want to stay at the vet hospital again. I learned my lesson about ivy, although judging from her track record, Baby Kitty will continue to eat stuff she’s not supposed to. Not the tuna or cat treats I give her – oh no. That would be no fun at all. Only things that make me have to spend Saturday morning cleaning the carpet in multiple places in every room of the house because she couldn’t possibly be bothered to barf in the same place twice. Side note: I love going to see Karen at work because I get to go downstairs where all the veterinary magic happens. And since everybody knows me and Barfy McPukerson, well, they don’t mind if I ask a million questions. It’s interesting, what can I say?
By the time I got home, happy hour was way past over, so I went to P.I.C.’s anyway and we went out for sushi. And then watched “Starsky and Hutch.” Because I love Owen Wilson. And because I’m an unstoppable party machine, I fell asleep on his couch. Although in my defense, I actually WAS an unstoppable party machine on Saturday night. More on that later.
So now I have to give Baby Kitty a bunch of medicine every day so that her tummy feels better. I don’t mind (but judging from the scratches on my arms and legs, SHE certainly minds) and neither does the Inspector. He always runs to get INTO the crate, because he thinks that means he’s going somewhere. He likes to ride in the car. Medicine? Sure, he’ll have some. He’ll also have some of that tuna, the cauliflower you don’t want to eat, the rest of the syrup on your plate, the cake batter off of that spoon, and pretty much any other food item in his reach. And if you don’t mind, he’d like to hug you and lick your face. What? You do mind? Too bad. He will hug you and lick your face. He will not be deterred by you pushing him away and repeatedly saying “get off me” because he LOOOOVES you and he wants to make sure you’re fully aware of that. This picture is an accurate representation of what I wake up to most mornings.
Anyway, enough cat stuff for the day. I will have the story of Joe’s birthday extravaganza in the next couple of days – I’m hopefully going to have pictures as well…