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It's Freak Out Friday!

I headed home about three hours ago, full of hope, optimism, a little bit of sass - basically myself - ready to overshare on GroupThink about what a bomb-ass human being I am, and then something happened.

Guys, I just picked up a cat.


I know, I know, and it's not what you're thinking. Really. I know my official line is that pets aren't just a thing that happen to you, pets are a conscious decision. I know that you're rolling your eyes at me. I know the face FluterDude is going to make.


[Relevant side info: We have a two pet max on our lease and have met it. Additionally, I am only employed part time and summer is not that part. We were kind of touch and go financially before Sh*tty K*tty's thousand dollar surgery, and I've gone and ... well, keep reading.]

I didn't get a cat so much as I think I accepted responsibility for one that happened to be there.


The scene: the road I live on. Driving. Rocking out to radio music.
The problem: a hunched up kitten in the opposite lane
The drama: dead kitten moved!

So like any other safe, rational driver, I pulled a U-turn, stopped in the middle of the road, and lept out to keep the poor thing from being run over a bajillion times while it died.


Turns out, it hadn't been hit by a car. It looked ... pathetic. Rough? Not good. But it did not appear to be squished. So I wrapped it up in the beach towel I keep in my trunk for beach emergencies, and I pulled another U-turn, taking us to the office of my friendly neighborhood vet.

Kitty was dehydrated, flea-bitten, and starving. Kitty has no other discernible maladies. When Kitty is feeling better, she'll get an FIV and leukemia screening, some rabies shots, and then ....?


(Kind of like this, but not on purpose)


Putting aside the issue of FluterDude murdering me in my sleep, and/or the pet limit on our lease, Sh*tty K*tty didn't come by his nickname lightly. He's a sweetie when he chooses, but he never, ever chooses around cats.

I, on the other hand, cannot touch the cute without loving the cute. We had literally three minutes of contact before I dumped her at the vet and said, "DowhatyougottadoI'llcomebacklaterwithVisagottagobye!"


This little girl is precious but she has got to go somewhere and it cannot be my living room. The vet promised to call rescue organizations in the area, but was already pulling on my heartstrings, trying to convince me that she's mine.


Anybody want a mail-order kitty?

Update: Kitty has been dubbed "Rhoda."

Rhoda is hooked up to an IV, and has apparently become more active in the last few hours. The vet wants to keep her over the weekend for observation - she appears generally healthy, but there are a few things that need to be checked out.

One of the other clients in the waiting room overheard my telephone conversation with the receptionist and is going to cover the most expensive part of Rhoda's treatments. With the financial hurdle out of the way, one of the vet techs has expressed interest in adopting Rhoda.

All Rhoda has to do now is get healthy, and then the world as she knows it will have changed - for the better.


Happy Endings!

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