Tikka, Reilley and Goblet had a very expensive trip to the vet Thursday afternoon.
Tikka with her continual ear issues.
Reilley and Goblet for annual maintenance.
As soon as the crates emerge from the basement, they know somethings up. . .and whatever it is, it's not going to be fun, enjoyable, entertaining. . .
At least not entertaining for them.
Crates come out, and both tend to scatter to unseen corners of the house.
But not this time.
We were prepared.
Em was already with Reilley in her room when I came in the crate and the door was shut.
Same with Goblet.
Stephen at the ready, whispering sweet nothings into Goblet's ear, telling her all will be alright.
The look on her face clearly meant she didn't believe him.
Especially when she saw the crate.
Both in their crates, favourite blankets, shirts, whatever in with them.
A pathetic attempt to keep them calm.
Really pathetic.
To add insult to Goblet's already injured pride, Stephen wasn't accompanying us on this petit sojourn to the vet.
Keith was working.
And someone had to stay home with Frankie.
Who, if left alone, would think that the apocalypse was upon him and would carry on as such.
Leaving me and Em alone to wrangle three pets to the vet all on our own.
Tikka in the back.
Reilley in his crate resting on Em's lap.
Goblet, placed in the backseat of the car, but in the space between the front seats to ensure that she could see everything, with further murmurings from Stephen that all would be well and fine.
And admonitions to me to make certain that she was okay.
That I speak to her during the drive.
Coddle her during the visit.
Include her in any conversations I have with Em and Reilley.
And, of course, that I call him immediately when we finished to let him know how she fared.
As if I would do anything else.
The actual vet appointment wasn't anything out of the ordinary.
The usual.
Shots, pills, ears examinations, being felt in ways that in any other context would be considered pornographic.
From Reilley and Goblet, however, nothing that fell under the umbrella of normal or usual was experienced.
In fact, on the drive home, Em asked Reilley how he was doing.
This is how I imagined his response:
HOW AM I DOING? REALLY? YOU HAVE TO ASK? YOU STUFF ME IN A SMALL BOX WITH POOR VENTILATION, TAKE ME ON A DRIVE THAT SERIOUSLY AFFECTS MY DIGESTIVE SYSTEM, MAKING ME CAR SICK, THIRSTY AND IN SPITE OF ALL MY VOCALIZING DURING THE DRIVE YOU COMPLETELY IGNORED ME BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO BUSY LISTENING TO THAT WRETCHED LADY GAGA. AND BY THE WAY I **HATE** LADY GAGA IN CASE YOU'RE INTERESTED. AND THEN WE GOT THERE YOU STUCK ME ON THE SCALE. . .IN PUBLIC NO LESS. . .AND TOLD THE ENTIRE BUILDING HOW MUCH I WEIGHED. . .HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF I DID THAT TO YOU. AND THE ENCOUNTER WITH DR. FRANKENSTEIN???? YOU STOOD THERE AND HELD ME DOWN WHILE HE POKED AND PRODDED AT ME. . .ME! AT 119 YEARS OLD, IN CAT YEARS, BEING POKED AND PRODDED BY SOMEONE WHO DOESN'T EVEN LOOK OLD ENOUGH FOR A DRIVER'S LICENCE LET ALONE HAVE THE SKILLS NECESSARY TO TEND TO SOMEONE OF MY AGE. YOU LET HIM SHOVE THE EAR THINGY SO FAR INTO ME EAR I THOUGHT HE WAS TRYING TO SEE INTO MY ASS!YOU WATCHED AS HE SHOVED PILLS DOWN MY THROAT AND WHEN I TRIED TO SPIT THEM OUT. YOU ALLOWED HIM TO HOLD MY MOUTH SHUT UNTIL I SWALLOWED IT. AND TO ADD INSULT TO INJURY YOU STOOD ASIDE WHILE HE GRABBED BY SIDE FAT AND STUCK NEEDLES INTO ME! EVEN GRANDMA JUST STOOD THERE DOING ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.
AND TO TOP EVERYTHING OFF, GRANDMA PAID HIM. . . .SHE PAID FOR ME TO EXPERIENCE THIS ABUSE!!!!!!!
AND SHE PAID ALOT!!!!!!
SO HOW THE HELL DO YOU THINK I AM DOING!!!!
Goblet was even worse.
In addition to all the trauma Reilley experienced, she also had to bear the humiliation of being told she was overweight, and that she need to lose between one and two pounds.
As if she didn't know this already.
Her response, when asked by Stephen how she managed, was to look at me and reply,
You. Sleep with one eye open.
One.
Eye.
Open.
To Stephen she simply said,
You abandoned me in my hour of need. I will never forgive you. You are dead to me.
At least until later tonight when I want to suck your earlobes.
This afternoon, before Em had to work, and I had to go to the nursing home, Stephen, Em and I drove to the Esso car wash and took Em through her first car wash ever for her own car.
We paid.
And of course, I had to capture it on video.
Which I'll post when I have the time for it to upload.
I would have taken a video of the cleaning of the car, but apparently, I was supposed to actually help clean and not just stand around videoing the entire thing.
But that didn't prevent me from taking pictures.
Before the hour we spend cleaning, vacuuming using Stephen's concoction of vinegar, dish soap and something else. . .
Whatever Stephen put into the spray bottle, the inside of the car smelled like the sink in an English fish and chip shop.
We needed an industrial vacuum to get rid of all the stuff that would render our 1980s Electrolux completely useless.
And afterwards, it looked much better.
Still more work to be done.
But it can be done at home, with our vacuum, and in the privacy of our driveway.
And where I have access to more than one cleaning cloth.
We'll need q-tips, a toothbrush, more cloths, more sprays, something called Armor-All. . .
But even our initial efforts have had tremendous results.
And a happier Em!
Always important.
Tomorrow, Stephen and I are off to check out the cottage we have rented for a week in August.
Just the two of and the dogs.
So we'll need to find a beach somewhere.
A day out of the city.
At the beach.
The ocean.
Ahhhhhhhhhhh. . . .
And imagine the pictures and video I'll get!
Title Lyric: Car Wash by Rose Royce
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