Q: Who wants to hear about how my ex-boyfriend is responsible for my cat slicing her buttcheek off and leading to my absence in college this semester?
A: Everyone wants to hear about that.
Preface story #1: Back in January, I had saved up quite a bit of money to put towards my tuition for my 2nd semester of online schooling for my English degree…it was actually a pretty hefty accomplishment because I am NOT very good at saving money. I can only take one or two classes per semester because they’re so expensive and because I work full time, so it wasn’t a TON of money, but it was enough…about half of what my tuition was going to be, actually.
Preface story #2: I’m not a big flower person…they’re a waste of money, they die, I forget to put them in vases, I forget they exist and leave them on top of my fridge until they start getting really gross and stinky and then I remember why I just really don’t like flowers that much. It’s a wonderful gesture, but I’d really rather my man-cakes take me for coffee or buy me a book…or do pretty much anything other than give me flowers to show that he cares.
Preface story #3: I was dating my ex-boyfriend, Tit, at the time this story took place. His name is not actually Tit, but it has slowly taken over as his name and I’m almost positive that his own mother may adapt to calling him this someday. This event is his fault and I will go to my grave blaming him for its entirety. Way to go, Tit.
Preface story #4: I have two cats- Pheobe Bon Qui Qui and Penelope Garcia (named after the computer analyst on Criminal Minds).
Actual story: In January, Tit brought me flowers. In all honesty, I don’t really know why: there is a 99% chance that I didn’t do anything to prompt that. He probably wanted something out of the deal. He probably did not get what he wanted out of said deal. Atop my refrigerator the lovely bouquet went in order to avoid any Pheobe/flower relations that would inevitably occur. Little did I know, atop my refrigerator Pheobe also went. She knocked the vase down and landed on a huge shard of broken glass, slicing through 3 major muscles in her little kitty-ass.
Using my extensive veterinary experience and keen women’s intuition, I stripped into my bra and underwear and took the patient into the bathtub to assess the damage without getting her AIDS infested blood all over my apartment. You know what happens when you put a cat into a bathtub? Apparently I didn’t know this either, but I do not recommend this. We then decided that an animal hospital would be the best option, so I swaddled my cat into a feline/towel burrito and made my way to the car. After spending 6 hours in the animal ER, smoking an entire pack of cigarettes while waiting, drinking 4 cups of coffee, and passing the 2 o’clock mark on my watch, the kitten I received for free just two months prior made her way from the operating room. All is well until I am told that I owed the veterinary clinic over $900. I had two options: pay the bill or give my cat to the Humane Society. I wish I were a smarter, less compassionate human being, but due to THIS post about Pheobe peeing in the dryer, we all know that I paid the bill. Kind of.
I only had half of the amount due, so the rest was put onto a line of credit through Care Credit (they don’t fucking care at all, don’t believe their gimmicks) and I am still paying for this misfortune today. I was not able to attend college this semester because I gave up my tuition for a feline that pisses on my work pants; I’m one of those people.
I made Tit buy me some food after we were done dealing with the crisis, but not even Waffle House could mend the pain that my wallet was feeling. Pheobe had stitches in her ass cheek for two weeks and healed up just fine (if it hadn’t been for the cone, none of this would have been worth it).