maybe it's his food....

12-22-99

Well. When Aida called me yesterday, she did want me to go in. But it wasn't because of the holiday, it was because shit happened (literally, I guess) and they got stuck with 17 surgeries. That's a lot--usually we only do 5-8 surgeries in one day.

They did leave four for today, and we got two more, so it was a normal day. The high school girl, Jennifer, helped with the surgeries, so it was just a busy day for me, anyway. So I feel like shit for not going in yesterday.

We sent one of the puppies back to the shelter because he was very sick. When I got in this morning, he was lethargic in his cage, probably nearly comatose. He was surrounded by pools of shit and vomit and blood. I don't know what it was, coccydia or worse, but Dr. Figaro said to get the shelter over immediately and get rid of him so he wouldn't infect the other puppies.

It's the first time I've ever been scared by one of the animals I take care of. I'm sure, by now, that the puppy has been put to sleep. For the sake of the other shelter animals and for the puppy's own sake, I hope he was euthanized. He was really sick.

Of course, I had to clean out the cage. Here's where Aida and Sherrie got back at me for ditching them yesterday: the hose was broken. The hose itself worked, but the sprayer exploded while I was gone. I told Aida to get a new one so I wouldn't have to touch the icky bloody mess, but she took so long shopping that the vet made me clean it up with the broken hose. The longer we left it there, the more likely it would infect someone else. Like I said, I don't know what it was, but it's airborne and really, really painful-looking.

So, yummy, huh? The rest of the day was uneventful. John's taken on the quest of hunting for our bedroom floor. We think it's under the piles of clothes and boxes and papers, and there might be a brownish carpet down there, too. Since my parents are coming next week. we figured we ought to be able to show them past the dining room or something.

I'm writing this over a Becky's, taking a few minutes' break every now and then to pet her kitties, Sable and Sammy. John's playing with Becky's nintendo. See, it doesn't count as wasting time if you're playing at someone else's house. We're watching the cats! Taking care of the house! At least we're not lying around on our own couch, or playing with our nintendo. What a waste of time that would be.

Sammy just took a long, luxurious dump in the litter. Becky's always asking why our "shitbox" doesn't smell like hers; she thinks we use special litter or something. Now that I've smelled the Sammy Special, I know it's not the litter, it's the freaking cat. After he's done, he comes out and flops down on the coffee table. God, if I ever smell like that, I hope someone tells me. I'm going to tell Sam right now.

Betsy: "Sammy, your shit smells like shit."

Sammy: "Bite my ass, bitch."

Betsy: "Your ass smells like shit, too."

Sammy: "I'll bet your ass smells like shit, bitch."

Betsy: "Maybe it's your foul mouth that smells."

So, I'm off to waste time at my own house. I know where I'm not wanted.