As my cat-loving peeps already know, my boy DG has been sick with a nasty cold for a few days. Since it wasn’t going away as quickly as I’d like, I finally decided this morning to take him to see his veterinarian. The office opens at 9:00am for walk-ins and since I was working from home today and needed to be ultra-productive, I made sure to be there right as they opened so as to get in and out as quickly as humanly possible.
But as fate would have it, DG would not be seeing his vet today.
You see, there is a Planned Parenthood in the same strip-mall as the animal clinic where DG’s vet works and it would seem that some loser nutjob* decided jingle-bell time was a swell time to place what would appear to be a bomb at PP’s doorstep. As a result, the entire place had been evacuated, with the notable exception of DG’s vet, Dr. Miller, who the police officer informed me absolutely refused to leave! Nevertheless, the officer would not let me past the yellow tape to take DG in to see the vet and told me it would likely be at least an hour before that would even be possible.
Meanwhile, behind him, a couple guys were maneuvering some sort of robot out of a huge van. By all appearances, the robot looked as if it was designed to roll up to people and stab them in the groin.
After snapping a few pix with my cell phone, I used it to call the animal clinic. Dr. Miller answered and told me he had just operated on a couple kittens, which was why he wouldn't leave the office, but that he also had no staff and thus couldn’t really afford to see me even if the cops were to let me by. I told him I understood and asked if I could just pick his brain for a moment. He happily agreed. I described DG’s condition and was assured he was all right but that it wouldn’t hurt, since he’d been ill for several days, to have him in for some fluid infusion and to check for bacterial infection.
By the time I hung up, the police had ol’ groin-stabber up and running, so I decided to hang out and see if maybe this would be a relatively quick affair. There was a guy walking around in what looked like a spacesuit – only in a very fashionable forest green – and everyone official-looking was stirring about as if things were just about to get good.
Alas, the next hour was more-or-less uneventful. I watched Green Spacesuit Man go up and take a reading of the box with what I must assume was a Geiger counter or some similar instrument. After that, it was nothing but cops standing around drinking coffee and adjusting their belts constantly.
I’d been sitting in the car with the engine running and the heat on (it was freezing outside) so that DG would be comfortable, but it was obvious to me that the poor little guy would rather make the lengthy, gut-churning trek back home than remain there any longer. The crotch-killer hadn’t moved an inch since its initial test-run and I thought I saw someone deliver new steamy cups from Starbucks, so I decided to just cut my losses and go home.
As of this posting, no news has been reported as to whether or not the bomb was a hoax.
Within twenty minutes of returning home, DG was seen trotting around with his tail up and when I held him, he proved that it is possible for a cat to purr and sneeze at the same time. Then he started kneading my neck. It was all so sweet, but none of it did a thing to dissuade me from taking him right back to the vet tomorrow. He’s not going to be happy to hear that, but it’s really for his own good.