When we last visited the spectacular Sparkles Plenty household, Maggie the cat was comfortably recovering from having her girly parts ripped from her tiny little body. She had the surgery last Thursday and spent the weekend lolling around the house while we presented her with a variety of pillows so she could pick which one she wanted to sleep on at that very moment.
Monday night -- Memorial Day -- around 8pm I remembered that it was time for Maggie's monthly flea medicine. I toddled off in search of her, and after some looking I found her in the basement contentedly grooming herself. I picked her up and brought her upstairs so The Mister could hold her while I applied a few drops of liquid to the skin on her upper back. As usual she reacted like I'd just dipped her in sulfuric acid, but after a couple minutes she settled down and scooted off to resume her grooming. Around this time I glanced down at my arm and found a small smear of blood on it. This was quite unusual because usually the only time I find blood on my arm is when I've been chopping onions and mangled a finger. My eyes may be burning but I cannot stop slicing because that would mean the onions have won.
After standing around like a stupid turd wondering about the blood on my arm I finally managed to add things up. I became very worried and scurried off to find Maggie. When I did, she was sitting in the bathroom on a blood-spotted rug. Upon closer examination it was obvious that her incision had come open and parts which were supposed to be inside her body were now spilling out onto the floor. She appeared completely unfazed by it and gave me a look all, "I know my intestines are coming out through my stomach, but I'm handling it."
I proceeded to freak the hell out, running around the house in circles squawking about stitches, emergencies, and my general level of inadequacy with regard to caring for living organisms. Fortunately my husband is much less neurotic than I. With his help Maggie was loaded into her carrier and then my hysterical self tore off for the emergency vet clinic like my ass was on fire. Once there I continued to lose my shit. The staff was exceedingly kind, but I have no doubt they're still laughing about that crazy lady who needed Valium like no one has ever needed it before.
They told me that Maggie would undergo additional surgery where she would be reopened, her "stuff" would be put back in, and then she'd be sewn back up. They encouraged me to go back home since there wasn't a thing I could do other than sit there and worry. They said no news was good news and to plan on picking Maggie up early the next morning. I made my way back home and then fidgeted nervously for the next few minutes. I needed to do something, so I decided to pick up where the evening had left off. I lit the grill and threw on some hamburgers. People handle stress in their own ways. Some chainsmoke, some pace the halls. Apparently I barbecue meat.
I got Maggie from the vet clinic early the next morning. She was sent home wearing one of those megaphone collars like that dog from the Nirvana video. It was one of the most pitiful things I've ever seen. But the high point was that a strip of gauze had been put through the loops at the base of the little cone helmet at neck level. The gauze had been tied in a pretty bow, making Maggie look like she was wearing a 23rd century sunbonnet.
Overall she's handling it quite well, even though the widest part of the collar is substantially larger than her head causing her to misjudge distances and crash into walls on a pretty regular basis. It's not hard to tell when she's coming because her approach sounds like someone whacking an empty milk carton against the wall. But she doesn't seem bothered by it, and in a few days she'll be free of the cosmic sunbonnet.
Hopefully after that I can resume my regular stories about elaborate plans to entice bats into creating makeshift caves in our backyard, or me getting drunk and falling off the side of the deck. I never thought I'd say it, but I miss talking about all the stupid shit I do.
Monday night -- Memorial Day -- around 8pm I remembered that it was time for Maggie's monthly flea medicine. I toddled off in search of her, and after some looking I found her in the basement contentedly grooming herself. I picked her up and brought her upstairs so The Mister could hold her while I applied a few drops of liquid to the skin on her upper back. As usual she reacted like I'd just dipped her in sulfuric acid, but after a couple minutes she settled down and scooted off to resume her grooming. Around this time I glanced down at my arm and found a small smear of blood on it. This was quite unusual because usually the only time I find blood on my arm is when I've been chopping onions and mangled a finger. My eyes may be burning but I cannot stop slicing because that would mean the onions have won.
After standing around like a stupid turd wondering about the blood on my arm I finally managed to add things up. I became very worried and scurried off to find Maggie. When I did, she was sitting in the bathroom on a blood-spotted rug. Upon closer examination it was obvious that her incision had come open and parts which were supposed to be inside her body were now spilling out onto the floor. She appeared completely unfazed by it and gave me a look all, "I know my intestines are coming out through my stomach, but I'm handling it."
I proceeded to freak the hell out, running around the house in circles squawking about stitches, emergencies, and my general level of inadequacy with regard to caring for living organisms. Fortunately my husband is much less neurotic than I. With his help Maggie was loaded into her carrier and then my hysterical self tore off for the emergency vet clinic like my ass was on fire. Once there I continued to lose my shit. The staff was exceedingly kind, but I have no doubt they're still laughing about that crazy lady who needed Valium like no one has ever needed it before.
They told me that Maggie would undergo additional surgery where she would be reopened, her "stuff" would be put back in, and then she'd be sewn back up. They encouraged me to go back home since there wasn't a thing I could do other than sit there and worry. They said no news was good news and to plan on picking Maggie up early the next morning. I made my way back home and then fidgeted nervously for the next few minutes. I needed to do something, so I decided to pick up where the evening had left off. I lit the grill and threw on some hamburgers. People handle stress in their own ways. Some chainsmoke, some pace the halls. Apparently I barbecue meat.
I got Maggie from the vet clinic early the next morning. She was sent home wearing one of those megaphone collars like that dog from the Nirvana video. It was one of the most pitiful things I've ever seen. But the high point was that a strip of gauze had been put through the loops at the base of the little cone helmet at neck level. The gauze had been tied in a pretty bow, making Maggie look like she was wearing a 23rd century sunbonnet.
Overall she's handling it quite well, even though the widest part of the collar is substantially larger than her head causing her to misjudge distances and crash into walls on a pretty regular basis. It's not hard to tell when she's coming because her approach sounds like someone whacking an empty milk carton against the wall. But she doesn't seem bothered by it, and in a few days she'll be free of the cosmic sunbonnet.
Hopefully after that I can resume my regular stories about elaborate plans to entice bats into creating makeshift caves in our backyard, or me getting drunk and falling off the side of the deck. I never thought I'd say it, but I miss talking about all the stupid shit I do.
5 Comments:
ÇOK GÜZEL BİR SİTE.
Oh shit! Poor baby! Except both Melisa and I laughed when we saw her poor little picture. Your free cat seems to be getting pretty expensive! :(
is it cruel of me to want to put one of those on my cat just to laugh at him for a little bit?
No kidding, Kathy. Every time I see her in her little helmet I alternate between feeling pity and giggling like a little girl. The dinero we've dropped on Maggie in the past couple weeks is seriously cutting in to my alcohol budget, but she's one of the family now so we don't really think about it. She's worth every penny.
Grace, I'll be happy to give you the sunbonnet when Maggie is done with it. I know it's wrong to laugh at her, but she really doesn't seem to mind it and it's freaking hysterical to watch. So I say strap the helmet on your little fella (that sounds dirty but it's not), have a couple cocktails, and let the hilarity ensue, lady!
Oh NO! I'm sorry you've had all this further trouble. Hopefully once she gets past this episode things will be trouble free for a while.
Those bonnets always crack me up! Thankfully none of mine have ever had to endure that. I have always been a bit in fear of my dog Dobie ever having to have one - he is paralyzed at the sight of his collar and leash, I can only imagine that he would be frozen indefinitely having to wear one of those things!
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