me?
* * *
Fred stopped on his way home from work yesterday to pick up Miz Poo. I was sitting in front of my computer (but of course), when the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID to see that he was calling. When I answered, he was laughing so hard he could barely talk.
“She looks… she looks.. she looks like a PIRATE!” he gasped. I started giggling.
“She does? Does she have a PATCH on her eye?”
“No!” he stopped talking for a moment to laugh even harder. “But her eye is sewn closed and she has a bandage on her leg and it makes her look like she has a peg leg!”
The vet found a sore on one of Miz Poo’s front paws that he had to open, drain, and stitch closed. Is it a coincidence that “Miz Poo” has the same initials as “Money Pit”?
“Awwww,” I said. “My poor Poo!”
Just then, the vet walked into the room to talk to Fred, and so Fred hung up the phone, telling me he’d be home soon.
Ten minutes later I heard the garage door go up, and Fred walked into the kitchen with Miz Poo. I could see her through the door at the front of the carrier, and she looked kind of dopey and confused.
“Awwwww,” I said. “Hi, baybee! Hi Miz Pooty!” Fred set the carrier down and bent down to open the door.
Miz Poo came out of the carrier, fast, shaking her legs. With her came a wave of urine, splashing everywhere as she tried to shake it off her back legs. Fred bent down and grabbed her so she couldn’t run under the couch, and I grabbed a towel. Fred picked her up and we started drying her off, getting cat pee all over us in the process.
“I hate to say it, but I think we need to wash her off,” Fred said. I agreed, and carried her upstairs, Fred right behind me.
Now, when Fred said he thought we should wash her off, I assumed he meant we should use shampoo and actually wash her. What he actually meant was that we should rinse her off, which is what we did. She fought us frantically – did you know cats don’t like to get wet? – and Fred rinsed her off the best he could, while she whimpered and whined. We dried her off and again and put her down, and she limped for the bedroom, where she spent a good part of the afternoon hiding under the bed.
I thought for sure that she’d stink to high heaven of cat pee, but amazingly enough just rinsing her with water did away with the smell completely. I even buried my face in her fur and sniffed hard, and couldn’t detect the slightest bit of cat pee odor.
Last night she pulled the bandage off so she could lick her paw. The vet had said that might happen and if it did it was okay, so I pulled the rest of the tape off her leg and tossed it.
She spent the entire night sleeping pressed up against me. Well, she started by draping herself across my head, with the rest of her body laying against my neck, and I’m pretty sure she would have stayed like that all night long, but it got uncomfortable for me pretty quickly, so I put her on a pillow, and pulled the pillow against me. She spent the majority of the night half laying on the pillow, and half (the heavy half) laying on me. Around 4 am, I couldn’t stand laying in that position anymore, so I pushed the pillow away so she’d slide off the pillow and onto the bed. And laying on the bed, up against me, is where she spent the rest of the night, until it was time for me to get up. I didn’t want her to have to jump off the bed and hurt her paw, so I put her on the floor.
Poor Miz Poo. I’m sure while I’m in Maine she’ll break a leg or something!
* * *
Last week, Fred got into my Jeep and moved it away from the house so it wouldn’t be in the way. When he got home that night, he said “I thought your Jeep was going to fall apart when I started it!” After driving his nice new car, he was surprised at what it was like to drive a crappy old vehicle, I guess.
“Maybe we should just go trade it in and get you a new one right now,” he said.
Do you know what I said? I’m so shocked and amazed, because it’s possibly the most adult thing I’ve ever said in my life. I said, “No, it’ll be okay until February.” February is when we’ve been planning to go shopping for a new car for me. In the past, whenever Fred has so much as thought about suggesting that it’s time for me to get a new car, I’ve grabbed him by the hand, run him out the door, and began shopping for a new car. We don’t believe in spending a lot of time shopping – the day we decided the car I drove from Rhode Island to Alabama was on it’s last legs (wheels) and should get a new one, we were signing the papers for my truck in less than three hours. When it was time to trade in my truck (I’m not really a truck kinda gal, I discovered), Fred went out looking at vehicles at 10:30 in the morning, and was home with my Jeep (the one we traded in a few months ago for Fred’s new vehicle) by 1 pm.
But he’s brought up the idea of trading in my Jeep no less than five times in the last week, and every time he brings it up, I tell him we should wait until February. Because the Jeep will be paid off, and we’ll have money from our tax refund for a down payment, rather than having to dip into our savings.
Don’t get me wrong – just because I’m willing to wait doesn’t mean I haven’t been LOOKING at cars. Although I like the yellow Beetle, the dashboard freaks me out, and the price is a little more than I’d like us to spend on a car. I wish like hell that the Toyota Echo came in yellow, because I think it’s about the cutest little car I’ve ever seen. Of course, if the Ford Mustang wasn’t so expensive, I’d go for that, because I need me a muscle car, don’tchathink?
Lately, though, I’ve been eyeballing the
Suzuki Aerio SX. It’s a cute car and it comes in yellow. I actually like the look of the Aerio Sedan even more, but of COURSE it doesn’t come in yellow.
It’s very “me” to shop for a new car based on whether it comes in yellow, isn’t it?
* * *
I was supposed to be going to a family reunion for Fred’s father’s side of the family tomorrow afternoon. Every year on Labor Day weekend a bunch of them get together at a restaurant (usually a different restaurant each year), have lunch, catch up on what everyone’s been doing, and take a ton of pictures.
Every year, a few days before the reunion is to take place, I develop a raging red pimple somewhere on my face. This year, it popped up at the top of my nose, directly between my eyes, red and throbbing and drawing the eye of everyone who comes within ten feet of me. Two days later, another one popped up on my cheek. Neither of them is poppable (oh, shut up. I’ve been popping zits my entire life, I don’t CARE if popping them leaves a SCAR) and they don’t seem to want to go away. Someone suggested in my comments, at some point, that I should put Milk of Magnesia on them, let it dry, then wipe it off with a warm washcloth. I tried that yesterday, and it might have dried them out a little, but they’re still bright red.
Y’all know that I never EVER wear makeup, but I just can’t bring myself to go out into public with them so red, so this morning I covered them with foundation and powder. You can still see them, but at least the brightness of the red has been dialed down a tad.
I get more pimples at 36 than I ever did at 16!
* * *
At a quick glance, you can’t even really tell that her eye is sewn shut. I bet it’d be more obvious if it was the eye on the lighter side of her face.
* * *
Previously
2003: I guess Spike TV really IS television for men.
2002: When married characters are that cruel to each other, all you can think is, “Why the hell are they married if they hate each other so much?”
2001: Gatlinburg pictures!
2000: No entry.]]>