today, Dooce (one of my favorite bloggers - note the link to the right there) talked about how her poor puppers Chuck (CHUCK ROCKS!) was sick and had to go to the vet. Some of you may recall last summer the MANY and COUNTLESS trips to the vet by all four cats. So here's acopy of the e-mail I sent Heather.
She brought up the question, as I do to you, how FAR would YOU go for your fur children? This was my reply.
if you visit my flickr site, what do you see? Tons of pictures of the scrumptious Narda? Friends and dinner parties? Cousins and Family?
OK sure - but count the pictures of the cats - just count um.
THERE IS NOTHING I WOULDN'T DO FOR MY FUR CHILDREN.
last summer, we put WAY too much on the credit card (almost as much as we spent on sperm trying to get pregnant, but that's another story) to keep the cats healthy. Cougar is now on Prednisone every other day - I have to shove a pill down a cat's throat every other fucking day for the rest of his furry little life, followed by slamming down some petromalt, just so the cat can pee and poop in the shower instead of the litterbox.
I crush up a little green pill of glucosamine and smoosh it into Juno's food EVERY morning so she can have the strength in her 16 year old joints to be a sassy bitch and chase the boys around the apartment.
Quincy is 2, so thankfully, no drugs for him yet.
I share this with you to totally justify whatever you may do to keep Chuckles around. When they are pissing you off, sure, you tell them all of the ways that you could kill them, but when G-d forbid something actually happens, come hell or high water (whatever that means) there is no debt that I would not go into.
So give Chuck a scratch behind the ears for me, and tell him that he is one loved little mother fucker!
(and here's the flickr site - I've listed you as a contact, Quincy is the cat on the toilet: Photo page )