Just when you think things are going ok and that you might be able to stay out of the pawn shop just one month, someone goes and kicks your cat.
Granted it wasn’t on purpose, but the cat was kicked all the same. You see, Mama was in a hurry to use the can and there are two doors to said can; one being the entry from the hallway, the other opens into the master closet. As I stated before in one way or another, I am not about to be on the cover of Martha Stewart Living. So when I throw dirty clothes into the master closet for later washing, theoretically, the clothes are supposed to go into a hamper. Said hamper in said closet is usually overflowing with dirty clothing, however, so I tend to aim, throw, and let my discarded clothing fall where it may. And this is how the tragedy began.
My mother, in her haste to close the closet door, kicked a pair of black shorts that were obstructing the door. Unfortunately, Babee Dondee was curled up on that pair of shorts. Babee Dondee is small and black except for the occasional white hair here and there, so he was perfectly hid on that black background. My mom’s swift kick made hard contact with shorts and cat.
Mama felt terrible, placing the blame on herself, though I think if it is anyone’s fault, it’s mine since I’m a total slob and it was my shorts left there by me. She apologized repeatedly to Dondee and I think he realized Mom didn’t mean to do it to him.
But whoever’s fault it was, it became obvious Dondee needed medical attention, because he still limped this morning and wouldn’t emerge from the closet. I hate taking my cats to the vet, Dondee especially, since he is absolutely terrified of riding in the van in his carrier. He cries the five minutes it takes to get there, and is an awful thing to hear, especially when you can’t tell him what is happening in a language he understands.
The vet who saw us is a man in his 50s, whom I distinctly get the feeling likes animals more than humanity, or maybe he thought we meant to do it, and I feel horrified and guilty in his presence. But I think (hope) he knew we didn’t mean to, because I doubt the average person who abuses animals takes them to the vet afterword. I tried not to avert my eyes as much as usual, lest the doctor think we meant to do it and mistake my social anxiety as guilt.
In the end, nothing was broken, but his nerves in his shoulder were inflamed. He received steroids for that and antibiotics just in case he was bit by something instead of my mom’s kick because his temperature was up.
My mother gave me the joyous task of settling up with the receptionist since I had the money, but I knew it was going to be more than I have. And so it was. I’m too chicken shit to say I don’t have $195.00, so I beckoned my mom over and show her the invoice. Mama explained the situation and that we’ll be back as soon as possible. $96.00 down, $99.00 to go. So we take Dondee home, grab up some pawnable merchandise, and back out we go. Meanwhile, one of the maintenance guys told us the pool passed inspection and will probably open today. Great, figures the damn thing would finally open and I’d be on the……nevermind.
I think the receptionist was pleased we came back as soon as we did, and hopefully, since we brought the money back so fast, that will give us a gold star in character and somehow show them we don’t abuse animals. Lord.
Then, this afternoon was a trip to my therapist. Now my last trip to see her, she kinda sorta almost yelled at me, or was very firm. Well, at least it worked. Plus my mom, my best friend, virtually everyone on earth, also wanted me to do what I did. So I did and I feel the better for it. Guilt and elation, anger, guilt, then elation again. Some things that are easy for other people are much harder for me. I meant well, though.
My therapist was glad I went out with Green and that I had no real problem with talking to him or the Hippies, that I didn’t freeze up. She wants me to contact him again.
She isn’t so happy I’m so nervous-acting, I don’t think, because she asked me when I last saw my shrink. It was a couple months ago and she couldn’t up my meds, but thank God, my depression lifted a lot since. I went from life-sucks-just-let-me-die-or- something to life-sucks-less. Good enough, man. Party!
She seems to think my little perfectionist bent is a tad maladaptive. I can’t stand my inability to do everything just right. If I feel I haven’t done things perfectly, I will go into a rage at myself and go take a nap. One thing goes wrong, EVERYTHING is wrong. If I raise my voice at my mother, I will get angry at myself, feel I’m a failure at life in general….and go to sleep. Every morning I wake up and promise myself today I will not make a mistake. Doomed to failure, but I can’t stop. I’ve done this off and on in some form or another since I was a small girl. Nothing I would expect of another person, but I can’t stand my lack of measuring up to normalcy. Oh well.
952 words, I’m shutting up now.
15 thoughts on “Visit a Vet and Your Therapist.”
We have no pets at present but over the years we’ve had a number of cats and dogs. Cat trips to the vet were always the worst, especially before carriers. On being perfect, I have a story I’d like to share with you, just click on the link… http://ksborn.blogspot.com/2008/03/beadwomen-lesson.html
I have a tendency to be anal retentive, more so when I was younger. I notice this tendency in my children, especially my son.
Thanks very much for the link. I really enjoyed it!
Your version of your true-life adventures is truly enjoyable to read, Lisa. You have a great sense of humor, and a talent for portraying the absurdities well.
I think hanging it up at about 1000 words is good practice, but sometimes a weighty concept will need more. That’s why I write series. You don’t really need to point out to the readers why you end a post, however.
You’re also smart. I think you KNOW perfectionism is maladaptive. It’s just targeted obsession toward whatever minutia you aim your attention at. You’re growing and taking risks. That’s the main thing.
Thanks, Mikey! I do have a big one I’m working on between smaller ones. But unless I’m almost done, I’m going to put “To be continued…” if it hits at 1000.
The vet we have used lately has a sign up front, and it says sumpin’ like:
Walk-ins emergencies average $200 due when services are rendered.
OCD girl, consider joining my movement.
That is, the never-ending pursuit of the pefection of mediocrity!
Sounds like a good movement!
But it was 195.00 well spent because he’s doing so much better on the ‘roids and is going back to his spunky lil self.
Well lucky you didn’t leave a brick in your shorts or you may have been going to the hospital instead. Hilarious (if not expensive) adventure.
Ouch…Always look on the bright side of life!
Oh you poor thing. I’ll bet your mom felt awful.
At least the cat’s ok, that the important thing! Well one important thing anyway.
Very, very important. It’s amazing how much he improved after hitting the steroids I am so glad he is feeling better for his and my mom’s sake too. It was awful seeing him in pain and though he’s still limping, he is returning to himself.
His brother, the huge black one, brought in another squirrel this morning. It lies half eaten in the bathtub….Think I’ll let my mom handle that one, because I will seriously puke. Always an adventure when you have a little hole cut out in your screen for your cats to come and go as they please. Ugh.
So happy to hear the cat is doing alright! What an expensive veterinarian though, I feel like $195 is asking a whole lot… As worth it as it may be.
Looking forward to your next post!
Don’t know, but I’m betting it was the fair cost, b/c they generally aren’t a “We’ll do everything and then some” sort of place. They took a couple x-rays and gave us 2 meds to give him, so I don’t know.
Thanks! I always look forward to what you write too!
Doing better. Now if I can get insurance or she can get medicaid, she desperatly needs insulin.
In a rich country like this, people lose limbs and lives because they are poor.
Damn. Hope so. Jesus wept, then burst into flames (did you hear about that? I’m pretty sure God has a sense of humor.)
My husband poisoned my cat once. He put flea meds that were meant for the dog on the cat. He didn’ think it would be a problem…except it says on the package that the meds needed to be used on a dog weighing more than one hundred pounds because the dosage was to high for anything weighing less. So it wreaked havoc on my poor 5 pound cat. The damn thing went into convulsions and ended up on muscle relaxants and an IV. My husband has never lived it down. Because I’m not so sure he’s all that sorry about it…he and the cat don’t really get along. On the brighter side, my cat is a whole lot friendlier around people nowadays, there was a time when she considered herself “too good” for the common people.