Six hundred and seventy dollars later, poor Roger and Anderson are back home.
SIX HUNDRED AND SEVENTY DOLLARS!
Thank all that is holy and credit-giving I have a CareCard. It's like a credit card for the vet. Roger not only had to get fixed, he had a hernia. Plus they had to get their final round of vaccines, and when all was said and done--yeah.
That's three Botoxes I could have had.
When I went to pick my gender-neutral cats up, the vet said, as she ALWAYS does, "Are you sure about Roger's age?"
"Yes. I got him when he was a teensy thing. He used to be able to crawl under a closed door."
Remember when I first got him and he did that? Awww.
"Well, he's the biggest non-Maine Coon I have ever seen," said the vet. "And he's not overweight. Promise me you'll not change vets. I have to see how big this monster ends up getting."
"What's he weigh now?" I asked her. She looked at her chart. "Twelve point two, and he's barely seven months old. Anderson weighs seven pounds and he's two weeks older. Roger outweighs him by 40%."
We looked at each other with big eyes and laughed for a long time. Roger is going to end up being the size of a Macy's Parade float.
Anyway, they seem to be doing fine, although I felt bad because I picked up Roger and he said, "MOW!" and I think I hurt his little hernia incision. I am an outstanding cat mom.
In other news, I never got to tell you about my most excellent discovery about Dick Whitman. This weekend he and I went shopping for iPhones, because if I don't get another iPhone soon Ima die, and if I get the old 3G one it'll be really cheap, and he wants the new fancy kind because he currently has a giant shoe phone like they spoke into on 90210.
So we were at the Apple store at the mall near me, and neither of us got an iPhone for reasons that would bore you and you would all end up looking like the cats in the photo above, and when we were leaving the store Dick Whitman--WHO I AM NOT DATING--said, "You wanna go to Anthropologie?"
Anthropologie is only my favorite store. They might as well name it Junethropologie, because that makes a ton of sense. "Yeah, if YOU do!" I mean, they only sell housewares and girl clothes there.
It turns out? Dick Whitman? Even though he is straight, loves--LOVES--shopping for girl clothes, and picking out girl clothes, and accessories, and ohmygod he is like someone you can play Barbies with! He is so good at picking out clothes! Five months I been knowing Dick Whitman and I never knew this riveting fact about him. We must have been in Anthropologie for over an hour, looking at hats and dresses and sweaters and necklaces and he is more fun than any gay boyfriend I ever had. Are you listening, Dave Newman who was never gay that way and who always wanted to go hiking instead?
I'm just saying. Dick Whitman. There is a reason everyone comes into your life. This is why he is here. He is my one-millimeter-from-being-gay friend. Am delighted at this discovery.
I guess that's all I have to tell you, except I turned on the TV last night, to warm it up in anticipation of my show (Real Housewives) (totally want to hire last night's psychic), and I ended up watching an old movie called Sweet November. Has anyone ever seen it? It was good, even though the actress Sandy Denis has always made me nervous.
Also, why don't you guys ever invite me to your plastic-surgery parties? Okay, that is really all.
