Well, folks, the saga of the overheated pussy is at an end.
This past week started out as an emergency of medical proportions when my cat went into heat. I had been hoping for over a year that she was fixed before I found her and had been rewarded with that much time in which she appeared to be. It seems she was a late bloomer and when she bloomed...ohmygod.
I think that at one point she would have let me do her kitty-style.
She is never much of a talker except when I close the door to the bathroom (she hates being shut out of wherever I am), but last week she became a Supreme chirper. She began rolling all around on the floor and moving her tail out of the way of the servant's door. I couldn't pet her for fear that she would construe it as being, well, petted.
So, Tuesday morning it was to the vet's and in for tubal litigation...or whatever it is that they do. I'll tell you one thing: I never needed to know that I was being charged for bio-waste removal. Can you just picture the poor sanitation worker down in the vet's sewer cleaning that stuff out? Eww...
The upside of it was that I had a week's worth of entertainment as she wore her Elizabethan collar and auditioned for all sorts of Shakespearean characters.
"Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefor art thou- aack!"
"Oh, that this too, too solid flesh- aack!"
"By thee I foreswear- aack!"
"All the world's a stage and all the- aack!- merely players."
So, all in all, I got mine out of it. But the fact remained that I'd had to pay a hefty vet's bill with money I didn't really have. Yes, you guessed it. I paid with fake money. Well, more precisely I paid with theoretical money. To put even a finer point on it, I paid with money never to be printed, but which nevertheless seemed to satisfy the butcher.
And, so, I was caught in a conundrum. I had bequeathed what was essentially a promissory note and was not entirely sure I had the wherewithal to make good on it. What to do? What to do?
And so I had me a yard sale...
Not any yard sale, mind you, where used knickers are up for grabs (so to speak). Where one can find a scis or a betamax. No.
No no. To prove my love to my pussy and my credit report, I placed upon the tables (provided by none other than Lecram) half of my DVD collection, all of my VHS and all of my vinyl records.
Does this not move you to tears? Does this not make you want to reach out and touch me over and over and over and over and over and over and, if you're really good at it, under?
It makes me want to. In fact, hang on a second...thanks for your patience. Now, where was I?
Ah yes. And so I had me a yard sale. And sale I did. It seems that not very many of you have access to quality movies at 50 cents to $2 a pop. it seems that vinyl has not gone out of style at $1 per. It seems that I'm an idiot who could have gotten a lot more than I asked. BUT...not only did I more than recoup for the kitty's cut, I got rid of a lot of things that were hiding a lot of dust bunnies that were multiplying like...Mormons.
So, there you have it. My pussy got hot when I wasn't in the mood. I had her whacked. And I ended up paying for it in the end. A moral play if ever I've heard one.
And now I call her Eunis for obvious reasons.