8.01.2008

Guest Blogger: Brooke Brannon

My final guest is Brooke Brannon of the blogs: Brooke Brannon and The Daily Skirt. I have an interesting (and what I consider to be special) connection with Brooke because I love the people who raised her, who also happen to live next door to us. I call them for all occasions of complaints, questions, and psychiatric help. I recently met Brooke, and wish she lived next door as well.

My cat is not long for this world.

The cat is old, and smells bad, and vomits on things. That alone bodes ill for him, since I'm going out of town for a week and my husband knows the location of the no-kill shelter. But Bill's taking a more strategic tack. Instead of outright killing the cat - a frequent temptation - he's setting traps to aggravate the cat. Is he trying to make the cat have a heart attack? Raise its blood pressure? It's a mystery. All I know is, this morning I woke up to find the kitchen swathed in clear plastic tape. The tape was laid all around the counters and sink, sticky side up. One strand was balled up on the wall next to the counter. There were several yellow sticky notes placed near the tape, lettered clearly and succinctly, as if displayed for a criminal trial. They read:

  • Exhibit A (points to paw mark in tape) Please leave tape here
  • Exhibit B (near balled-up tape) This piece of tape was flat on the counter originally
  • Exhibit C: (this one's my own) Husband has lost mind.
It's not like the cat doesn't get on my nerves from time to time. I yell more at that cat than I ever do at my husband. When he was little he used to sleep on my head, and one time he had some wacko kitty dream and dug his fingers right into my scalp. I still have the scars. I don't have a death wish for him, but you know, we have a dog now, and that's a whole different ball game. We're saving our grief for the schnauzer. So when he goes, he goes. We’re not going to spend three grand on surgery, like our friend Carrie did. When her cat Buddy got sick, she dropped him off at the vet’s, figuring that was that. Instead, the vet performed unauthorized surgery to bring him back from the dead. Now she gives him injections twice a day, has to take him to see the vet every couple weeks, and the shedding is even worse than it used to be. And they’re out thousands of dollars. For a cat she found in an alley. So we are trying to prepare our cat for the grim reaper. We encourage exploration on the balcony railings, and discuss potential household mishaps that might work in our favor. We mention Luigi, his fallen comrade, and how they might hook up once again in the Great Kitty Beyond. "If you see a white light, run toward it!" we tell him. He shrugs it off. He's going to live until he's 22.


Humor-Blogs.com

No comments: