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Beaux is healthy now. Infection is gone, his white blood cell count is down, and he's attacking even the invisible things I didn't know I had laying all over my house, not to mention the dog, my feet, the curtains, the bookcase... Hawthorne also had his check-up today, and Hawthorne is also healthy as a horse. Always has been, hopefully always will be.
But there's nothing like a trip to the vet with your healthy pets to make you feel like you are the single-most horrible owner on the face of this green earth. I usually get to see Dr. Mike, but apparently he's on vacation--I got his "understudy," a young lady with the bedside manner of Mr. Scrooge before he started seeing ghosts...
Case in point is a discussion about Hawthorne's "junk":
Vet: Have you ever considered getting him fixed?
Me: What? He's nine years old! Why would I do that to him now?
Vet: I've personally already seen three cases this week of dog's with prostate problems...
Me: ... And?
Vet: And they could have been avoided if they had simply gotten their dogs fixed.
Me: Yeah, well, he's nine. He's healthy. He does not at this point have prostate problems, and if he had problems, then we would consider our options.
Vet: Hmm...
"Hmm" all you want there, but I am not spending money to take away something that's not an issue. I'm all about preventative care, don't get me wrong. And if I would have had the dough back when I got Hawthorne, he may have gotten fixed then (of course, the guilt trip back then was not about his prostate, it was about the potential for more puppies in this lonely, cruel world... but I digress...), but he didn't. He's not a humper. When he does get the opportunity to see a female dog, all he does is lick her face anyway (talk about your lack of a sex drive!), and you think now I should take them away? Should I have my balls removed just in case I have prostate problems in the future?
And then there was this doozy:
Vet: He has some plaque build up, you see?
Me: (I peer at the tooth in question) Hmm...
Vet: He should really be scheduled for a prothy.
Me: A what?
Vet: A good dental cleaning.
Me: Oh, he's fine. They don't hurt him, see? (I knock on his tooth)
Vet: Yes, but in time that plaque could leave him with quite the sore tooth.
Me: I have a toothbrush for him. I'll just make sure to hit those back teeth a little better.
Vet: That's not going to cut it, sir.
Me: And why not, ma'am. (Yes, I'm copping an attitude. I want to see Dr. Mike, not this sanctimonious snoot...)
Vet: Because he needs a good cleaning.
Me: And how much does a "good cleaning" cost?
Vet: Only around $500.
Me: Are you nuts?! I don't even spend $20 go to a dentist, and you want me to pop $500 so he can have "pearly whites"? I don't think so.
Vet: Well, we put him down with anesthetic, and keep in mind some of those teeth may need pulled due to cavities, there's the IV to keep him hydrated while he's under--
Me: No. Absolutely not. I'm sorry, and you can think I'm a terrible owner all you want, but there's no way in hell my healthy playful active nine-year-old dog is "going under" for any reason other than life-saving surgery--and maybe not even then depending on the scenario. Am I clear?
Vet: Sir, why do you even have the dog if you don't feel you need to take proper care of him? (Yes, she is now getting snooty with me...)
Me: He gets fed, he gets love, he gets played with, he gets a bed, three balls, an acre to call his own play ground, he barks when strangers arrive, and is great with nieces and nephews. He's nine years old and, except for that brief moment in time when he was stolen from my yard while I lived in Allentown and was missing for a week and I had to spend close to $3,000 to save his life due to some cruel and negligent morons, I am an excellent owner to this dog, just as I will be an excellent owner to this cat. All I need you to do is give him his rabies shot, his heart worm shot, worry less about his balls and more about his general health, okay? Dr. Mike has never once implied anything of this nature and I resent you doing so.
Vet: ... Nurse, make sure he gets to see Dr. Mike next time, alright?
Nurse: Yes, Doctor.
Me: Thank you.
Vet: Thank you.
Bitch.
Granted, I copped attitude first, but that's neither here nor there.
Needless to say, I will not be seeing this vet again... I made the receptionist put it in Beaux's and Hawthorne's charts that they only ever get scheduled for Dr. Mike in the future, just in case... Not that I begrudge him time off, you see. Just his newest trainee...
As I was preparing tonight's post, dear reader, I got the news in a CNN breaking news email, "Michael Jackson has died."
Rest in Peace, King of Pop. You certainly had little enough in life...
You were an under-appreciated legend in your time.
Everyone's taking control of me,
Seems that the world's got a role for me,
I'm so confused,
Will you show to me
You'll be there for me?
And care enough to bear me?
You weren't perfect--who is? Half the things you were accused of we knew to be false, yet the media hung you out to dry anyway...
Like a comet
Blazing 'cross the evening sky,
Gone too soon...
Your music will live on, and it will leave the world a better place. Thanks for the memories, Michael, and here's hoping you are now at peace.
On a slightly lighter note, how bad must our health care system be if we can't even keep our celebrities alive? Ed McMahon, Farah Fawcett, and MJ all in one week...?
Brings new meaning to "bad things happen in three's," doesn't it?
Those of you who know us personally know one thing for certain: Our relationship started with kittens. Five kittens to be exact. After three months of eye-tag and smiles, I turned to Richard one night, looking devilishly cut and ripped in a neon-orange tank-top with khaki shorts, and said, "Would you like to come home and see my kittens?" (I later find out he could have cared less about the kittens, but if I'm completely honest with myself, at that moment, I also could have cared less...)
Along the way, Spot, Pavement, and Cleopatra all bit the dust in various ways and we remained catless until just about a week ago, when we adopted a "female" kitten named Beaux. True to form (as Spot came into my life under the very same false pretenses...), at the vet they ask, "Where's the girl kitten, Beaux?" I gestured toward the kitten being held in the arms of the nurse and said, "You mean Beaux isn't as girl?"
So Beaux is a boy. Irregardless, the reason for the sudden impromptu trip to the vet was the fact that Beaux, playing with her--his toy mouse suddenly went stiff, tipped over, vomited, and then lay lifeless. While purring. My first thought was, "Holy shit! I have a narcoleptic cat!" Then other bad signs happened. Wouldn't wake up, but continued to vomit. Spasms. More vomiting. I'm sobbing, beside myself. A kitten I've had for less than a week was suddenly dying before my eyes! A few quick calls and some google searches had me at the door of the vet's, tears streaming down my face with a kitten who suddenly changed sexes...
He has an infection somewhere in his bowels, and another day and he could have ended up a brain-damaged to dead kitty. Sigh. Of course, my third heart-attack happened when I got the emergency bill! A kitten I've had less than a week has already cost me nearly $400!
But as I watch him playing now, fighting with Hawthorne over the newest "life-like" mouse toy, I know it was worth it. Beaux is already so ingrained in Hawthorne's--and our--lives, I already have a hard time imagining how I wasn't looking where I was stepping before he arrived. I've realized how much I've missed the sound of a soft purr just over my shoulder. The pitter-patter of wobbly paws racing out from behind the corner as I walked by to attack my feet.
So our Saturday evening plans to celebrate our tenth anniversary were axed due to the extraordinary vet bill we weren't expecting...
But really, it all just makes sense. Full circle and all that. What started with kittens continues with kittens, and as we sat there Saturday evening watching a film, Hawthorne between us and Beaux taking flying leaps over his body to take turns on our laps, it all just seemed wonderfully perfect.
Or perhaps puur-fect would be more appropriate. Of course, it would take my gay relationship to be built on pussy, wouldn't it? Of course, even my pussy lacks a pussy...
Simply, wonderfully purr-fect...
I was recently told in a business exchange on eBay:
Now I know why God is directing me to pray for you!!!
How does that work exactly? How does a simple eBay transaction turn into a calling from god? Well, it's a matter of highlighting text and deleting the wrong portion--i.e., instead of deleting my auto signature (which directs you here) I deleted the text response to the query in question...
Now, don't get me wrong--the customer in question is a decent enough fellow, but this whole "god wants me to pray for you thing"--umm, isn't it god you'll be praying to? About me?
So if god already knows I need "help," as it were (if one is to assume that atheism is something in need of help), why would god want you to tell him that you now know I need help?
I'm reminded of this comic from Russel's Teapot:
Good stuff, that Russell. I do wish he were still blogging, but you really should go check out his stuff--too funny! (Clicking on pic will open it in a larger window... for those of you not reading this blog on a cell phone, dearest younger brother!)
So I guess the only thing left is to wait... :)
It's amazing to me what people will believe...
I want to kill people. I want to strangle their necks. Of course, how is this different from every day life? It's not so much, really. But when it's been 24 hours since your last cigarette...
Well, you're just more likely to kill them, that's all...
Beaux is the reason, just so you are caught up, dear reader. The price of Beaux is the cessation of cigarettes in my life. While the trade off IS a good thing, and while it WAS my idea...
Well, sometimes I don't think these things through...
Who is Beaux? Technically, her name is "Face of Beaux," named after the "Face of Boe" from Dr. Who, the FANTASTIC television series! Of course, the real face of Boe and our face of Beaux look nothing alike. After all, who would want a kitty that was just a head floating in a glass canister of smoke? Okay, well, maybe you would, but I certainly don't.
Oh, how rude of me... This is Beaux:
This is the Boe she was named after:
I'm just glad Beaux ended up being cuter than Boe!! Who needs an ugly cat?
Regardless, people need to die... I need a cigarette...
What the worst part is, I know I will not die from wanting a cigarette. No one has ever died from wanting a cigarette. Gone mad, perhaps, a bit nutsy, but died? It's the smoking that'll kill me!! And as the one half of my brain tries to explain this to the other half of my brain... Well, it's not pretty what's going on between my ears... A very nasty, very ugly fight is going on...
I've already won... Now it's just a matter of convincing my brain that we're not doing this anymore...
Sigh. Stupid habit. Even stupider for my brain thinking it needs it so...
You know, I just don't get it.
Now, don't get me wrong: I am not one of those anti-gun, anti-2nd-amendment, more-gun-control types who think everyone just needs more laws to keep people from murdering one another: Far from it! What I don't understand, though, is how these people who are fervent, verging-on-psychotic, right-wing nut-job Jesus followers are also the same types who would brandish sixteen pistols, seventeen shot guns, seven rifles and a war chest of ammo...
Or is it just me? Does anyone else see... well, something not quite right about this image?
Let's look at the facts: There is not a command that says "Never go to war," although the OT god was so much about war, you would of thought his commission on giving the so-called "holy land" to Israel was close to 90% (God, Jesus, and Ghost Realty, Inc.)! But when it comes to the new testament? You read things like "turn the other cheek"; "love your enemies"; "whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me." When Jesus was getting arrested to be put on trial (and eventually nailed up like an oil painting) and Peter cuts off the ear of the high priest, did Jesus cheer him on? Grab his sword and say, "I can take it from here, Petey"? He admonished his disciples and (supposedly) healed the priest: In Matthew he is reported to have said "Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword..."; in Mark he is recorded to have said "No more of this!"
When the Pharisees got everyone in an uproar and they tried stoning him, did he start throwing rocks back? Grab a sword and go all jihad on their asses? No, he "passed through them" (became Casper, if you will) and walked away... When I read "Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord," one wonders how many of these southern baptists and what-not think, as the bible is to be taken quite literally, that guns don't count--it's the sword they need to be concerned with... (Perhaps that might explain a lack of enthusiasm for the art of fencing here in the states?)
Of course, many a Christian likes to pull the old 10 Commandments out at this point: "The Bible says 'Thou shalt not MURDER,', not 'Thou shalt not kill!' so there!" (I have to be amazed that this is still the only bit of actual Hebrew most of these right-wingers have learned...) And it's true: it is "Thou shalt not murder" if one translates it correctly. But what is murder?
There are no disclaimers about self-defense not being murder. There are no asterisks (*) nearby calling attention to a footnote that reads "Except when protecting your land, crops, wife, child(ren), goats, sheep, cows, and American-made pick-up truck." If every person--let me repeat, every person--is made in god's image, and every human has an eternal soul, and you kill that human despite the NT examples set forth by your man-god...
What makes your life more important than the robber or murderer? Sure, you can justify it til the cows come home (or at least reasonably close to home), but can you find me the disclaimer? The one that reads "if your life is in imminent danger, you are no longer committing murder, you are simply killing"?
If one looks at the entirety of the new testament, the portion of the bible we are supposedly living under, show me where violence on the part of a follower of Jesus is condoned or otherwise not frowned upon...?
And remember context: The "sword" in the new testament? Always is a metaphor--it is never once referred to as an actual physical weapon to be used by a follower of Jesus...
But that's probably only because shot guns hadn't been invented yet... And Rome must have had sword-control laws in place... So now we have to ask, who would Jesus have shot? Anyone? Anyone?
Me: Definitely black.
Rich: Uh...
Me: Just think about it...
Rich: I am, and... The ceiling?
Me: With maple beams and recessed lighting...
Rich: It seems so--morbid.
Me: It’s not like I’m moving a coffin in!
Rich: May as well...
Yes, dear reader, you know the routine by now, do you not? We’re painting another room--our room, this time. Two walls have gone redwood, two walls camel tan. The hardwood floors are a golden maple, and there are two rather nice-size windows with matching golden maple trim--it’s going to be a classy mod look with a hint of rustic, if you can catch my vibe here...
Rich: And track lighting is so.... So...
Me: 1983?
Rich: Yeah, sounds about right.
Me: Who mentioned track lighting?
Rich: You did!
Me: Recessed lighting, not track lighting. This isn’t an art gallery, it’s a bedroom!
Rich: It’s a morgue.
Me: Yes, yes, that’s the look I’m going for. I thought it’s be a nice change from what everyone else does with their bedrooms. Very TrueBlood meets Betty Crocker.
Rich: Ha-ha, very funny.
Me: Look, does the rest of what I’ve done look good?
Rich: (Shrugs.) Yeah, it does.
Me: Okay then, have a little more faith, okay?
Rich: Seems I have no choice. I’ll pick out a suit to wear while I lay in state every night.
Me: Yes, and I’ll check your teeth for lipstick.
Beaux is healthy now. Infection is gone, his white blood cell count is down, and he's attacking even the invisible things I didn't know I had laying all over my house, not to mention the dog, my feet, the curtains, the bookcase... Hawthorne also had his check-up today, and Hawthorne is also healthy as a horse. Always has been, hopefully always will be. 
