I seem to start quite a few of me entries by either saying or thinking –
Did I tell you I got a new laptop? I did! Here’s how it happened….
Ever since Casey the WonderCorgi(tm) died, and his sister Gloria the Liquid Cat disappeared shortly after, we’ve been catdogless at DangerHouse. It’s not that we haven’t wanted another poop machine. It’s more that our lifestyle really made it tough sometimes keeping up with the responsibilities. Like, for instance, remembering to feed the fuckers while on a 4 day drunk. As that happens a lot now, we thought it best to hold off. Especially as authorities really put some teeth into animal cruelty laws recently.
But then came COVID-19.
I’ve actually enjoyed my COVID time so far. Granted I had to quash a few nagging feelings of guilt over whooping it up while 700-thousand of my fellow countrymen died in excruciating pain, gasping for air for days before then being denied even the small comfort of a loved one’s touch before expiring. But that was pretty easy.
I, meanwhile, have spent the last 2 years sitting on a comfy couch in a nicely appointed living room (ie: it has a bar!), only prying myself off during work hours. And that only entails walking to the next room, where I sit in an equally comfy office chair in front of a microphone and have fun lying to the masses. In between newscasts I can amble out to the kitchen and toss together a nice quiche to have with a French press coffee.
Pre-COVID, I had to spend 2 to 3 hours a day in a bouncing Subaru commuting to and from a not nearly as nicely appointed office, and drink tepid off-brand Keurig coffee pods.
I’ve also rather enjoyed saving money for once in my life. Do you know how much $3.60 per gallon 87-octane fossil fuel I pass through that Subaru every day when I commute? Let’s see, a hundred miles a day in a car that gets 25 miles to the gallon equals….THANK GOD FOR COVID dollars.
Plus, I get to bang NewWifey(tm) any time I want. No silly restriction like having to wait til after work, if a quicky during commercials will suffice.
Which means, of course, NewWifey(tm) has not had an idyllic time of it. I mean, yeah, the sex is great for her (I assume). But outside of that, she seems to have a few gripes. Like, “FOR GODSAKE, I AM SO SICK OF SEEING YOU! WHEN ARE THEY GONNA OPEN THE FUCKING BARS AT LEAST?!”
Awwww. She’s so cute when she’s feigning murderous rage.
But ok. Maybe, just maybe, the inescapable presence of a mostly inert 200 pound lump on the couch every waking hour for the past 2 years has been a bit of an irritant. Especially as that lump hasn’t felt any particular urge to shower on a regular basis. Or flush.
So I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised when a few months ago NewWifey(tm) started floating the idea of getting another pet. Being a considerate wife, she asked for my input first.
“I’m getting a pet” she said.
“We decided we weren’t going to get another pet, remember? We both agreed it was for the best.”
“I’m getting a pet whether you like it or not” she said. “Do you want a dog or a cat?”
I know when I’m licked.
“A cat” I said. “At least it can eat mice if we forget to feed it. Again.”
“Fine” she said. “Then I’m going to the pound tomorrow to get a cat. And this time it’s going to be an indoor cat. I don’t want to fall in love with another pet that doesn’t return home one day. And it’s going to be female. I’m tired of looking at things trying to lick their balls all day.”
“Ok. But make it a senior cat. Indoor cats can live over 20 years. I don’t want to be emptying litter boxes into my retirement. And make sure it’s healthy. A free cat that needs 600 dollars worth of vet visits is not a free cat.”
I thought she was going to dismiss me out of hand, but to my surprise….
“Thats reasonable” she said. “Alright, I’ll pick out a healthy older cat. You go buy cat food, a litter box, and a cat tree while I’m gone.”
The next morning NewWifey(tm) left for the pound, and an hour later came back with a kitten. Male.
“It ran up to me and snuggled!” she said. “Snuggled!”
“Bit…but…we agreed –”
I couldn’t argue that point, at least. As soon as it saw me the kitten ran over and started rubbing up against my shoe, purring like mad. I picked him up and he scrunched his face into mine.
He smelled awful.
“Why does he stink so bad?” I asked.
“Oh, I guess he gets car sick” she said. “He threw up in the carrier on the way home. And had diarrhea. He was covered in it. I just wiped him off with a paper towel, but you can give him a bath later.”
The kitten coughed into my ear,
“Oh, and he coughs a lot” she added.
What ensued was two solid weeks of puking, diarrhea, coughing, and stinking. But at least he cuddled. Constantly. Which sucked, because he smelled like an open pit latrine and left a layer of sputum covering every surface he curled up on for more than a minute. Notably, my lap. Which was why on the 2nd day:
NewWifey(tm): “What should we name him?”
New Wifey(tm): “Why ‘Dell’?”
Me. “He’s a laptop.”
So he’s Dell.
But like my other Dell, it turned out this one had a bad virus too. Among other things. When we finally got him to the vet, they informed us he had: intestinal parasites, an upper respiratory infection, butt worms, and something called “kennel cough”.
The bill for the lab work to determine all that, plus meds? I called it: $600.
For a free fucking cat.
A cat that we are now gonna have until I’m well into my retirement. That shits in a box that needs to be emptied. Every. Day.
But that’s not all. Guess who got to administer all the medications we came home with?
NewWifey(tm) tasked herself with forcing eye dropper after eye dropper full of rank tasting goop down the cat’s throat THREE TIMES A DAY FOR A MONTH. I don’t think she trusted me not to strangle the thing by *cough* accident. To keep from suffering lacerations over 90 percent of her body, every episode started with her wrapping Dell up in a towel so tight his eyes bulged. Then she got a little metal cake icing spatula and wedged his mouth open with it while she rammed the dropper a good two inches down his little throat and squeezed the bulb.
Three times a day. For a month.
A month later he was cured. Solid poops. Worms dead. Lungs clear. Snot ejections ceased.
And he hated NewWifey(tm).
No surprise there, right? Getting a tube of foul tasting goo forced down your throat while being forcibly restrained does not lead to feelings of endearment. It would have been different if Dell was a girl of course. But no guy likes being treated like…well, like a girl.
I, however, did not subject Dell to such torment, which meant he still loved me. In fact, he loves me even more now. So much more that it’s driving me out of my fucking mind. He follows me everywhere, cries outside the bathroom door the entire time I’m taking a dump, brings me all the cave crickets he kills (or half kills), and leaps in front of me and grabs my ankles when I walk down the hall to the bedroom at night, trying to stop me.
Not only that, he insists on joining me at work. He lays on my desk while I’m on the air, not moving for anything until my shift is over. It wasn’t much of a problem when we first brought him home and he wasn’t much bigger than a can of soup, but he is now pushing 20 pounds and 2 feet long, plus tail. I have nowhere to put my morning mimosa now! I call him my co-host on WCAT. I hope the fame doesn’t go to his head – the head I constantly have to scritch or he pulls my hand to his face with a set of inch long claws.
To say NewWifey(tm) is upset by this is an understatement. She wanted an older female cat that would cuddle with her, and she ended up with a young male cat that runs away screaming at the sight of her.
So I shouldn’t have been surprised when she said yesterday, “I want to get a dog. One that cuddles with me. An older dog that doesn’t need to walk for hours on end to be happy. And it’s gotta be healthy. Oh, and a short hair breed this time. Casey the WonderCorgi(tm) shed so much it looked like it was snowing inside the house half the time. It also has to be crate trained because….”
Here’s some pics.
And his very first kill:
This is WCAT, signing off.