cat heaven and shopping

12-30-99

Just a teeny depressing part:

Is it terribly Christian of me to believe that the kittens we put to sleep on Monday morning are now in Cat Heaven? They were tiny, tiny kitties, about the size Fleck was when we brought him home. The Warner Robins Animal Shelter has a very quick turnover, they don't need put down animals who are extra; these cats were sick. S-i-c-k. I don't know what they had, but they were crusty and, well, just sick, trust me.

It hurt that they were so tiny, and that they looked like Fleck, in a general manner. Black and white, symmetrical, very sweet. (Except for the sick part.) I saw them when they were waiting in the carrier, then I peeked in after they'd had their shots, and they were lying together, sleeping comfortably for probably the first time in their lives. Not breathing, but their chests throbbed as their tiny hearts pumped very slowly. A few minutes later the carrier sat on the floor, waiting to be picked up so the kittens could be cremated.

I didn't cry for the dead kittens, just like I didn't cry for Digger, the dog I stood outside with for endless minutes, waiting for her to pee so I could catch her pee in a cup. The next day Digger's chart had "Euthanasia" written on the bottom. I came home and told John about Digger, calmly. He told me how Digger was happy now, and probably had no trouble peeing in Dog Heaven. That's when I lost it, just a tiny bit. And when I saw the kittens Monday, I went in the back and thought about how much better they have it now, and lost a tiny bit of it again.

I was so excited when I got to work this morning and saw Sherrie mopping up some cat pee. Then Dr. Trotman, the holiday doctor, walked out of the office. On a normal Thursday, Sherrie doesn't come in and I help Dr. Figaro with the surgeries. The Figaros are gone for the holiday! So instead of staying until 5:30, I went home at 12:30 today. Played tennis with John, then went shopping in Macon.

The shopping thing was weird. We went to Victoria's Secret, since they're having a big sale. John is really pumped to buy me bras right now. I don't know why, but I'm not complaining. We looked around for a while, and I almost tried something on, but it wasn't something I wanted to buy. I'm pretty well-endowed, so the enhancement sort don't appeal to me. I don't need anything to make my D cups look any bigger. I was game to play around with the miracle bras in the store, though.

When I went to the dressing rooms, the doors were all locked. I made eye contact with a salesperson, but she huffed and sailed past me into some sort of stockroom. There were little buttons by all the dressing room doors, so I pushed one. It lit up, but the door stayed locked. Another prissy, skinny, wonder-bra'd salesperson whizzed past me and into the stockroom. That's when I headed back out to the store area, where John was waiting.

The first salesperson came out of the stockroom, and again I made eye contact but still couldn't get her to stop moving so fast. She noticed that the light was lit on one of the dressing room doors and muttered noisily, turned it off, and breezed away. That's about when I told John we should just get out of the place, maybe come back when they weren't so busy.

After we left, I told John why I rarely go into Victoria's Secret. There's some unwritten chick protocol—Victoria's REAL secret—about how to act in the store, and I don't get it. I've never bought anything there, I never try anything on, and I don't even really go in anymore. The store doesn't really cater to women who already have large breasts, only to women who want large breasts. The salespeople are either really unfriendly, or they just smell poverty on me and don't come around. Like the scene in Pretty Woman when the salespeople in an upscale boutique just know that the prostitute shouldn't be shopping in there. Maybe the VS women just know that I'm wearing cotton JCPenney's under my jeans.

John, on the other hand, has a fine time in Victoria's Secret. Saleswomen are all over men who shop for women's underwear. Guess he never asks to try anything on.

We spent too much money in the rest of the mall. First, I impulse-bought a sweater that was on sale. (But it's so pretty, creamy-colored and blue stripes....) Then John picked up some magazines and I bought a paperback for entertainment. John bought aNOTHER nintendo game. This is getting out of control, since he keeps saying he wants to trade in the nintendo for a playstation.

***I've been reminded, sternly, that the game he bought was one that I wanted. I was being unfair.*** Then we picked up a cable signal splitter so we can put our little TV in the bedroom, and then got coffee. The coffee is starting to become a mall outing tradition. We always end up drinking coffee at the mall. I guess we were used to getting coffee all the time when John worked at Barnes and Noble, and our coffee habit is emerging now at the Macon Mall. There aren't too many convenient coffeeshops in middle Georgia. Quick shock after living in Michigan, especially Ann Arbor.