Yesterday morning, Ned texted me this photo with no further comment. Dear World: He texted me. Did you note the “ed,” there, world? Because it seems like no matter what I do, I cannot stop hearing people say, “He text me.” Goddammit.
The point is, to you it’s just a bag on a landing. To me, it means NedKitty is still doing okay. The vet had told him to pay attention to NedKitty’s activities. Is she still doing things she likes? So he listed her hobbies so he could check that she was still doing them: hair chewing, putting a bag on her head and getting in the shower. She is the weirdest cat invented. Finding the bag moved around is a good sign. Means she was sportin’ it when he wasn’t looking.
Last night, Ned texted me the above photo. Heeeee.
But speaking of that bony cat, I almost killed myself for her yesterday. Ned had to leave town for another presidential event. I think he was meeting with Begin and Sedat. But then he called me in a tizzy: he was out of subcutaneous fluid for that creature; could I pick it up at the cat clinic, and he’d get it when he got back home?
The cat clinic is, you know, half a mile from my neighborhood, and they’re open till 6:00. IT SEEMED LIKE NO BIG DEAL AT THE TIME.
I had big plans for myself last night. My ridiculous handyman, Alf–and I feel like if he were to read this post he’d say, Yes. I am fairly ridiculous. Anyway, Alf, of the ridiculous Alfs, put in a new gate on my fence earlier in the spring. He said we can’t paint the whole shebang till it weathers a bit, but it’s been a few months now and I’m dying to paint this mess. I Googled it, and read you shouldn’t paint until you’ve had three rain-free days in a row.
Guess what we haven’t fucking had for months. And also, just TRY to find info on when was the last time it rained. Cause it’ll be sunny for a day and I’ll think, man, did it rain day before yesterday? And since this is RAIN ALL THE TIME RAIN ON MY PARADE RAIN WILSON RAIN LOVE RAIN ON ME (yes, I KNOW it’s Reign O’er Me, smuggy) place, I can never recall. But I’ve become now acutely aware of days that it did not rain, and yesterday was officially day three. Finally!
So my big plan was to rush over to the cat clinic, where careful readers will recall they have a room full of kittens for kitten adoptions and why was June so willing to help, do you think, and then get home and commence to painting. Like I’m Tom Sawyer. With a new kitten. Tomcat Sawyer.
It was a perfectly lovely day yesterday, till Griff and I headed out for the 3 o’clock walk. “Is the sky rather…ominous to you?” I asked him, as the dark cloud that regularly looms over Griff’s head grew even darker.
Griff looked up. “Well, guess I’ll see my girlfriend tonight.” Griff’s beleaguered girlfriend gets to see him only on rainy days in summer, as he is otherwise golfing. I again reminded him that that woman is a saint. If I had a boyfriend who would see me based solely on barometric pressure, I wouldn’t be the only thing he’d find where the sun don’t shine. He might also locate a few golf accoutrements.
While we walked, the thunder growled at us like a feral cat you’re following to kiss. Not that I know what that sounds like. “You think we’ll make it?” I asked nervously.
We did, but when I left at 5:00, it was dark out. “This is ominous,” I said to my coworker N, who had to drive all the damn-ass way to Winston and who had little sympathy for my six-minute commute.
As I pulled onto the road, I saw the biggest flash of lightening I’ve ever seen. Then another one. BOOM! said the sky, and then the props guy started dumping buckets of water at my windshield. It was ridiculous. It was ridiculous like Alf.
People were turning on their hazards. Things started blowing past me like I was Dorothy Gale in her bedroom. “Am I, like, in a tornado?” I wondered.
I had to drive past my street to get to the goddamn cat clinic, and I knew Ned would understand if I told him I was literally worried a pole was going to fall onto my car, even though this isn’t much of a Polish neighborhood.
But I thought of poor skinny NedKitty, and how she perks right up when she gets her subcutaneous fluids, and I thought of her little bag on the landing and GODDAMMIT.
Plus, I considered the kitten room. Ned had said they had a whole ROOM of kittens, and then there was just one black one left, but maybe they got more. Or maybe Burt Blackarach was still there and I could abscond with him as a bonus for Ned. Here’s some fluid AND A KITTEN!!!
I was like a donkey with a rainy carrot dangling in front of me.
Here is an unretouched view of the cat clinic, if one were Claude Monet. It was the kind of rain where, even though I was right outside the building, I was 100% wet when I walked in, and not just because I was excited by the Adopt a Kitten banner, or as the rain made it, Adopt-a-Klwkttenfreer.
“I’m Ned Nickerson’s friend,” I said, bursting in. Bursting with flavor. “I’m here to get his fucking cat’s fucking fluids.” Ironic, as I was nothing but fluid at the moment.
They knew just exactly who Ned was, which tells you a little about how often he’s in there. While they bustled about to get the fluids, I, oh, meandered casually to the kitten room Ned had told me about.
There was even a sign: No kittens today frowny face.
I looked anyway, in case they were fucking with me. I RISKED MY LIFE, and my reward is no kittens? This is how Mother Teresa felt when she got to purgatory.
“So, no kittens today?” I dripped, because a giant sign and an empty room were not clear enough. “You’re out of kittens?”
“What? Oh, yeah,” said the woman at the desk, who was busy putting needles on the record, or in Ned’s bag o’cat accouterments. “Accoutrements” is a big word with me today.
“I was here on February first,” I said, because I’m weird with dates that way, “when NedKitty almost got put to sleep. I can’t believe how much she’s perked up.”
“I KNOW!” said the woman, amazed. “That day she really looked like…”
“She did.” We nodded our heads solemnly. Then we talked for 40 minutes about what a fucking mess Ned’s gonna be when that cat feels the silk. It’s not gonna be pretty. For any of us.
And I mean, I don’t wanna tell Ned that it just gets worse. At least that’s been my experience. I have to keep convincing myself Tallulah’s not coming back. It’s not like that time she hid in the woods for three days.
Anyway, I made it home and you’ll be stunned to hear did not paint the fence. That would have gone well. I coulda painted the fence in the driving rain while Lou Gossett Jr. yelled at me. I GOT NOWHERE ELSE TO GO.
However, I do. And that place is work. Smell ya.