I'm up. Not only am I up, I have been out already, and looking pretty, because I didn't roll out of bed and leave the house in flattering sweatpants or anything.
I had to take Roger to the vet to get his hernia stitches out. The vet is open on Sunday during the convenient hour (hour!) of 7-8 on Sunday mornings.
If only Roger hadn't lifted all those heavy things, we wouldn't be IN this predicament.
why you bozzer my bruther, mom?
I tried to take him yesterday, as the vet had said I could bring him in "any time" on the weekend. Roger is one of those cats who easily goes in the cat carrier, and for those of you familiar with cats, you know this is somewhat of a blessing. Because putting a cat who does not want to go in one of those things? Good luck to you, there. Godspeed. May the wind be at your back. And so forth.
Oh, they will scratch you and flail and grab the sides and make themselves weigh 78 pounds and howl and become possessed by demons and you had no idea some 12-pound creature, who seemed so cute when it was in the "Free Kittens" box at the jazz festival, could turn into the Tasmanian Devil so rapidly.
But no. Roger does not do any of these things. He just goes right in there. Roger's issue? Is when we get in the car. First his normally pale-pink nose turns magenta, and then here is a brief rundown of what Roger has to say to me once the car is moving.
MEOWMEOWMEOWMEOWMEOWMEOWMEOWMEOWMOOOOOOOWWWWWWMEOW!
I mean, it is constant. CONSTANT. And loud. And cloying. And for the first 10 minutes you are all, "It's okay, kitty. It won't be long. We're almost there" and by the time you're pulling into the vet's parking lot you're all "SHUT THE %$#%*%@ UP, YOU STUPID CAT."
And yesterday? After that pleasant, unmeowy trip to the vet to get Roger's stitches removed "any time"? It turns out they close at noon. NOON. What sort of cockamamie place has weekend hours of closing at noon and 7-8 in the morning? Those are LUDICROUS weekend hours. Do they understand the rest of America works Monday through Friday? I mean, 89% of us do, who aren't unemployed. Thanks, economy. Still!
So after all that, I had to drive back home with Roger's stitches still in tact, and in case you didn't think it happened, on the way back Roger said, "MEOWMEOWMEOWMEOWMEOWMEOWMEOW."
Also, since I was out and had such a pleasant companion, I decided to stop at the bank and deposit a check. Because why not run errands while I was up? And for some reason, this branch of my bank that is down by my vet has the most physically impossible driveway known to man. First of all, it's on the busiest street ever invented in the history of time.
Isn't that amazing? Did you know the busiest street ever invented in the history of time was in Greensboro, North Carolina? It's a big tourist attraction, which then just makes it busier.
So you can't just, say, turn in from the busy street. Oh, no, that's exit only, as homophobic men would say. And if you finagle around and get on the side street? You can't turn left to get to it, either. You have to get down the side street, go PAST it, turn into a person's driveway, scream "GET OUT THE BEER AND PRETZELS!" in your mind, back up, and go back to the bank.
I mean, accessing the Underground Railroad was easier.
So Roger (MEOWMEOWMEOW!) and I did all that, we waved at Harriet Tubman, and finally we were in the bank parking lot.
And you know what? DO YOU? IT WAS CLOSED. WHY IS EVERYTHING CLOSED ON A SATURDAY? DOES EVERYONE NOT REALIZE THAT IS EVERYONE'S DAY OFF?
Except for 11% of the population. Sorry, again.
So I screamed around the building and went to the ATM. And you know what I enjoy? Is when people say "ATM machine."
At any rate, I got up there, and the machine said, "We're sorry, we cannot read your card. Please reinsert." And they showed me a little graphic of how to reinsert my card.
You know how they show those graphics, and it's supposed to help you know which way the stripe on your card should be facing? Those graphics help me not remotely at all. Not even a little bit. My mind does not work that way. Spatial relations. Not June's strong suit.
And girl, I twisted my card this way and that, and I mean, this is not my first time at an ATM. I knew I'd inserted it right the first time, and this would be an excellent moment for a Hulk joke but I am in a hurry. Which would be another excellent time for a Hulk joke.
Finally the machine said to me, "We're sorry. The ATM is not working at this time."
"$##@%!" I said. And I may have punched the ATM a little.
The entire outing, from start to finish, had been for naught. "MEOWMEOWMEOW!" said Roger, all the way home.
I considered setting my alarm for 7:00 today to take Roger in for his stitch removal, but I had done freelance work on a statistics book all night and I was all, You know what? No. Life has been stupid enough without having to get up early on a Sunday on top of everything else.
But then really early this morning I woke up to see Edsel licking Roger, and I thought, Oh how cute. He is such a good cat mom. And then an hour later, I woke up again because Edsel was coughing a hairball onto the bed. My dog had a cat hairball.
Sometimes it feels like my particular life is extra-super-ridiculous compared to everyone else's. Is that true?
Lu feel like dat tru.
So anyway, I was up, and it was 7:00, so Roger and I went.
"MEOWMEOWMEOWMEOWMEOOOOOOWWW!"
The whole procedure took about eight seconds and they were playing Christmas music at the vet and I really feel like any and all acknowledgements of Christmas before December should just be against the law.
Today? I am spending the whole day at a spa and later Jude Law is whisking me to France where he is going to buy me a new wardrobe consisting of zero sweatpants while here at home they are lobotomizing Edsel for me. Alternatively, I am going to proofread a statistics textbook some more. And maybe get more cat litter.
Also, Harriet Tubman is coming over for coffee.
