This is not a recent picture of me.
However, it captures perfectly my feelings today.
Almost two weeks ago, I told you about my last trip to vet, and how mom may have to give me fluids.
Guess what.
Guess what.
Mom gets home, finally (most days it seems like she's gone forever), and begins doing some strange things.
Let me clarify: stranger than usual.
Now, me, I'm the trusting sort. So when she stands on one of the dining room chairs, hangs a jiggly, clear bag to the chandelier using my rag string and lays a fluffy towel on the dining room table, I don't think anything about it. My mind is focused firmly on food. And how I don't have any.
She's fumbling with things. Mumbling to herself. Frowning so severely it looks like a pair of centipedes are fighting to the death on her forehead. (Yeah, ewww.)
I start to wonder what the hell has happened to the usual Hello, poopies!!! How are mommy's little babies? Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, dinner. I shift my weight from one snow-tipped paw to the other. As close as a delicate little lady like me gets to stomping her feet.
I wait another chunk of forever.
Curiously, she puts my plate on the table. I get to eat at the table, with the humans? Get. Out!
Next, I land on the table. In my dish are treats. Wow, I rate today! Obviously she hasn't spotted that hairball . . .
I start to dig in. But their aroma triggers something, something I can't quite reach in my memory. Probably 'cause I'm starving.
Whatever. I start to dig in and then it hits me.
No, not the memory. A giant needle in my back!
Bitch!
Previously, I said giving me fluids would be a snap for mom.
Never has a kitty been so wrong.
I jerk away when I feel the jab (like, duh, who wouldn't?). Liquid spurts everywhere. She grabs me, grabs the line, finally figures out how to stop the flow. Her face is red, her T-shirt's wet, and what's that smell. Sniff, sniff. Sniff. Yep, ma's sweating like onions in an Indian restaurant.
She's flustered now. She's pleading with me as she takes several more stabs at it, pun intended. Oh, what's that? A tear? Sure, that's gonna make me sit still. As if. Hey, I'm the one who should be crying here, I say. To myself.
But I'm tough, so I just snarl.
This scene actually would be quite comical - if it weren't happening to ME.
Then she swoops me up and slobbers kisses all over my face while blathering on about what a good girl I am.
Don't I know it.
