Monday Jan. 30
I awake, and of course the kitties want to know where their food is, so I isolate Abby and give her a little kibble, while I keep Phoebe fasted. I call the vet, and of course Monday is always “emergency day” at the vet’s, but they can get her in at 11:20. I arrive, and drop her off because I really don’t want to wait at the vet’s office for the 1.5 hours it’s supposed to take for the procedure. So I hang out at a Starbucks up the street and check out two of their “breakfast sandwiches” which are on sale for 2 bucks apiece, and which they serve all day. The bacon/egg/gouda cheese on a ciabatta roll is pretty good, but the chicken sausage wrap is only so-so. I pass the time by reading. I listen to one lady complain to the manager that the outside seating area needs to made smoke-free. She (the lady) cites examples of hospitals that do not allow smoking on their outside property, so why not Starbucks? I feel for the lady, but she’s complaining to the wrong person. As long as it’s legal to smoke in a given area, Starbucks is not going to give up their patrons who like to have a smoke with their coffee. It’s up to the Florida legislature, and even us folks way up in Wisconsin know how quick and responsive they are to the needs of the people. (Remember the Florida recount during the presidential election of 2000? They dragged their feet for so long, that the U.S. Supreme Court – themselves moving at the speed of your average glacier – finally had to step in and make the call.)
Anyway, I head back to the vet’s office, and Phoebe is done with her X-Ray, and the techs invite me back to the holding area to see Phoebe in her little holding cage. Her pupils of course are dilated all the way, and she is obviously disoriented, but she does respond to the sound of my voice. Her left leg is shaved from just above the paw to about the elbow joint, and I can see where the main puncture wound is from the claw of the cat that she got into a tussle with. Here is a photo of her shaved leg. She looks like a poodle:
I am a little nervous, because I see Doctor Gatof in his office a couple of times, and passing in the hall, and he does not give me a thumbs up or tell me “It’s OK” or anything like that, so I am kind of expecting bad news. But when he finally pulls me into the exam room and posts the X-rays up on the light table, he pronounces Phoebe perfectly fine. I am so relieved, I nearly break down and cry, but I hold it together. All that’s required now, he says, is rest, isolation, and a little pain medication for which he phones in a script to a local pharmacy where supposedly they can mix it up a little cheaper than what the vet can sell it to me here for. As it is, the bill is $311. I take Phoebe home, and get her set up in the guest bedroom upstairs. There’s nothing high in there to jump off of, after I remove a couple of nightstands and put them in the closet. I set her up with food, water, and one of the two litter boxes I have with me. I release her from the cat carrier, and immediately she hides under the bed, which is fine, and I close the door to let her sort it all out.
The rest of the afternoon/evening is spent napping, reading, and watching my second video, which is “I Spy,” a movie version of the ‘60s TV show with Bill Cosby and Robert Culp. The movie is just so crazy awful, that it’s actually entertaining just to laugh at its awfulness. There have been occasions when Eddie Murphy has had his “moments” in several movies (like Beverly Hills Cop, for example) but this is not one of them. His dialect is so “black” in this movie, I can’t understand half of what he says. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your point of view), this is one of those flicks where you don’t need to understand the dialogue to get the gist of the movie. And I’ll be honest: Luke Wilson isn’t one of my favorite actors. Famke Jannsen adds some nice eye candy to the movie, but let’s face it: but for her role in the James Bond “Golden Eye” flick, she’d be doing underwear ads for Victoria’s Secret. And doing a damned fine job of it, I might add, it’s just that someone erred when they presumed she could act. Oh well, not the worst way to spend an evening, especially with a bowl of popcorn.
Phoebe responds to some wet food at about 8 p.m., and that’s a good sign. I head off to be about 10 p.m., weary from the day’s emotions. I am glad there’s nothing wrong with Phoebe’s leg that a little time won’t heal.
Expenses: Vet $311; Starbucks, $6. Total: $317
Bruce
No comments:
Post a Comment