Balls.

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15327173.post-61094077411125433892008-03-28T06:15:00.000-07:002008-03-28T08:25:27.116-07:00Balls.Here is the one unchanging law in my life: the second I have any extra cash in my bank account that isn't earmarked for rent/mortgage, bills, car payments, or other living expenses - the very instant I feel like I'm doing a little better than just breaking even - my pet, whatever pet I happen to have at the time, will need expensive surgery. There's no getting around it. Extra cash for fun things, that leather jacket I've had my eye on, maybe a piece of real furniture to replace some old piece of shit I got at a garage sale in 1987, or simply put into savings for a rainy day, is evidently NOT ALLOWED. For I just learned that The Calico - Lieutenant Vinegar Matilda 'Fraid o' Nuthin' Badass Calico of Doom - my Second in Command - needs to have a growth removed from her ear and we just got the estimate from the vet's office. $600 plus for the removal of a growth that may or may not be benign - but we won't know until they remove it. How much do you want to bet that that amount is EXACTLY the amount of our state tax refund. I just BET. But I have to do it. This cat is too good, too cool, too necessary to me to take a chance on this thing not being benign. Nothing for it but to do this the right way, and soon - just in case. So, on April 15 (tax day, no shit, gotta love the almost teleological synchronicity there, huh?) she goes under for the third surgery of her life. She'll do fine, of course, for she is made of nails and a motorcycle engine. And when the biopsy comes back, they'll say "oh, it was nothing, a completely benign little growth...but aren't you glad you know for sure?" And then I'll rub her little head and say "you better not have any more little issues, because if you do, it's curtains." And not really mean it. No joke, this has happened with most of the pets I've owned since moving to the Boston area and their health and upkeep was my financial responsibility. Get a few extra bucks - oh look, the cat's limping. Finally ahead on the debt? What's that wheezing sound? I love all of my cats very much, but once they start dying, I think I'll replace them with guinea pigs. Nobody takes guinea pigs to the vet for expensive procedures, yearly vet exams, or vaccinations. They live for a few years, then some morning you find a stiff little cavvy corpse in the cage, which you then bury in a shoe box in the back yard. No fuss, no muss. Of course, I don't really MEAN it. Of COURSE I'll get more cats. Maybe a dog. I am hopeless. Andrastehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17995089221441792487noreply@blogger.com