You aren't even going to believe what freaking happened to me today.
"NedKitty has a vet appointment first thing Saturday," Ned told me, not remotely using the name "NedKitty" because it's the dumbest name on earth. However, he HAS told me stunning tales of NedKitty's growly anger when she has to go to the vet.
"Ooo, I wanna go," I said, because I love me the drama. So today, in the midst of an early morning thunderstorm, Ned and I got NedKitty into her carrier.
Does anyone remember my evil cat Francis? Do you? In case you weren't here, Francis had been feral, and I decided a good idea would be to tame him and bring him home, "tame" being a subjective term. After the first year, he was literally banned from the vet. Banned. Every guest at my house who ignored my warnings to not touch Francis went home with a nub, or a ripped artery.
NedKitty? Going into that carrier? Would have been a formidable opponent to Fran. Oh, she twisted and furled and stuck out all her pointy parts and snarled and wriggled and ordered in more pointy parts and dug them into Ned and carried on and picketed and smashed her fist through the wall and formed a kitty Tea Party and generally got very annoyed.
After an hour and a half and a blood transfusion to Ned, the cat was in the carrier. And happy? My.
While Ned applied tournaquets to his open wounds and cleaned what looked like a murder scene, I grabbed the carrier and headed for the door. That cat is 13 and a half, and she only weighs 10 pounds. Carrying her was nothing. All my cats weigh 450 pounds apiece. I'm used to a sturdy cat. Plus I put small cannonballs on their collars for identification.
I know that made zero sense. I'm INJURED. I'm under the influence of ADVIL. Which I will get to.
Ned had a stool sample to take to the vet--not his own but NedKitty's. He also had a bag of general cat litter he was taking to the trash. We STUPIDLY took the stairs to the ground floor, which we haven't been doing on account of my ankle, which is still weak. We've been taking his fast, efficient elevator. Man, that thing moves like the wind.
At the bottom of the stairs, Ned said, "You take the keys and get you and the cat out of this rain. I'll throw out the litter and meet you over at the car."
No sooner did he disappear to the bin at his apartment that reads "Kitty Litter Disposal Container," a sign I photographed and put up as Hulk's ID photo when he calls:
(God, I adore myself).
Anyway, no sooner did Ned disappear to the kitty litter container when I stepped off the curb into the parking lot and
BOOM!
all of a sudden I was splayed out all over the pavement, right into a huge puddle. I don't know if I'd not lifted my weak ankle properly, or if I slipped on wet cement, or if I have MS or WHAT. All I know is BOOM.
My hurt ankle began hurting again in earnest, and my knee on the other leg, which had lost its old bruise but had still been hurting? Began THROBBING LIKE A MO'.
And then I realized I'd dropped the cat carrier.
"OH MY GOD! NEDKITTY!" The carrier was upside-down. I felt sick. If I murdered Ned's cat, he was so dumping my ass. "ARE YOU OKAY, NEDKITTY?" I started to cry.
There was NedKitty, upside-down in the carrier, glaring at me like an annoyed white bat. I was gathering my things and righting the carrier when a man came up. "I just fell in the rain!" I said to him, standing up.
He looked right at me and kept walking. HE KEPT WALKING! A woman has fallen in your parking lot, with a cat in her hand, and you don't even STOP? What kind of asshole DOES that? Was he DEAF? Did he think I was a CRAZY person? (D0n't answer that. You forget I had rain hair on top of everything else.) The point is, seconds later Ned saw us and got us to the car, and he was both concerned about me and, frankly, kind of mad I dropped his cat. Look. I didn't try to kill his cat on PURPOSE. I clearly have a tumor or something that makes me fall constantly.
"You don't have a tumor," said Ned darkly.
We got to the vet and told her what had happened, and could she please check the cat for any injury. I'd been crying the whole time, and the vet brought me a bag of ice, and in the last two months I've had more bags of ice brought to me than in the rest of my life combined.
The vet said NedKitty looked fine all over, and that the only thing she saw was "some dried blood on her side. It's not COMING from her, though, I don't think," she said. I gasped, nauseated, and then remembered Ned's many wounds. "The blood is from YOU," I reminded him, and he showed the vet his stigmata.
On the drive back, I apologized to Ned for dropping his cat, and he apologized for being upset. He said he was worried about both of us and didn't handle it very well. But really, who DOES handle a hysterical girlfriend who falls over all the time because she has the Dropsys (is that a disease? It sounds like a disease) and turns his cat upside-down? I looked back to see how NedKitty was doing, and
"Oh my god. Did you buckle the cat carrier in?"
"Yeah, I always do. What if I got in an accident?"
Can you see how dumped I'da been if I'd hurt that cat?
We got back home and I was certain NedKitty would be 100% over me, but in fact as soon as she was let out of that prison, her personal Folsom Prison, (Those people keep a-trippin', and that's what TORTURES ME) she was just fine, and let me pet her, and seems no worse for the wear. If I were her, I'd have held my paw up dramatically to garner treats, but maybe that's just me.
In the meantime, I'm back in a brace and my knee looks ridiculous AND my phone is acting weird. I think I...jarred it somehow in the fall. I called Marvin, who is good at phone and computer things, to get his opinion. "You fell again?" he asked. "What, do you have Parkinson's or something? What is WRONG with you?" And see? This is why that marriage did not work out. He mirrors my own terrible thoughts.
So there you go. There was today. It lowered the boom on me.
June, hating this day, and out.
