The High Life

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So Friday morning, as I languished around the house recovering from a long night of digestive issues (yes, I know you’re both tired of hearing about my digestion, just be thankful I don’t go into detail) I noticed that one of the cats had some extra junk in his trunk.

Great.

So I retrieved the cat carrier from the garage and off we went to the vet.  OH WHAT FUN I’M HAVING, announced the cat at the top of his formidable, bird/rabbit/mouse-hunter’s lungs.  I SURELY LOVE THIS LUXURIOUS CAT CARRIER.  ARE WE GOING TO THE OPERA?

Except it came out sounding more like STOP IT, YOU’RE KILLING ME, I’M DYING, I DID NOT AUTHORIZE THIS and so forth.

It was a surprisingly short appointment.  The vet agreed that yes, it looked like an abscess there at the base of his tail, they could lance that thing and clean it up and have him out of here in a jiffy.  She gathered him up and opened the door to the mysterious back area where nobody is allowed to go.  I heard a small cheer go up when she announced the abscess to the techs.

Yes, we’re gross that way, everyone loves an abscess draining, she says.

Say no more, says I, nurses are the same way (even psych nurses).

The best part?  They have this new antibiotic shot for cats.  Lasts for two weeks.  No more poking Clavamox down his fangy little pie-hole twice a day for fourteen of the longest, scratchiest days of your life!

Once home, the ungrateful little curmudgeon (who had been so all over me at the vet’s) wouldn’t let anybody come near him and instead bolted around the house switching his tail and licking furiously at the shaved spot.  It looked like he was trying to outrun his own butt, so at least we got some entertainment value out of our hundred and fifty big ones.

Cut to yesterday morning.  The wife and I are headed to the mall, because that is where the library branch is.  This is our idea of a good time and besides I have some seriously overdue materials about to burst into righteous flame.

We’re driving along and I hit a little bump and the front end of the car goes, emphatically, CLUNK.

Nooooo, we chorus.

I make a turn and it repeats the CLUNK.

Nooooo, we chorus again (because that worked so well the first time).

So that is how we ended up at Sears, where America not only shops but also has its cars repaired, if the cars make terrible noises on a Saturday and America needs both cars to be operational by Monday morning.   My car’s ten-year-old struts were finally toast, along with some other bits and pieces associated therewith.  And a few hundred dollars later, the front end of my car is all fancied up.  No more clunk, and it also doesn’t make that SQUEAK! SQUEAK! sound it used to make going over speed bumps.

Other people get to go to Hawaii and Disneyland.

We get to repair things.

We’ll get to have a real vacation someday right?  Right?

*weeps*

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