Flush it Friday: My Cat Does Not Have Cancer
Oh shit, I ruined the surprise.
I could un-ruin it with a simple application of the DELET key. But I won’t. Because I meant to do it.
[Youtube Skeletor video missing]
BAD: One of our cats, Glenn-Clyde, has had a limp for two weeks. We thought it was a sprain sustained from his interminable quarreling with our other cat, Dennis. Or maybe it was kitty osteoporosis. Or kitty tendonitis. Or rheumatoid kitty arthritis. We hoped it would go away, as kitty limps are prone to do. But it just got worse. So we took G-C to the vet. Which is never inexpensive, and never overwhelmingly likely to provide answers. Anyone with pets already knows that most veterinarians are just shiftless medical-school-washouts who do not know anything–or give a shit–about animals. Case in point: One time I took Dennis to the vet for chronic vomiting, and the vet x-rayed his stomach, and while showing me the x-ray results the vet said, to paraphrase: “See this stuff here? This could be some kind of intestinal obstruction. Or it could be, y’know, fat. We’d have to cut him open to find out.” And on the occasion in question, on which we took Glenn-Clyde to the vet for his limp, the vet took an x-ray, and while showing us the x-ray results the vet said, to paraphrase: “See this stuff here? That could just be his shoulder. Or it could be, y’know, cancer.”
GOOD: What we saw on the x-ray was neither “just his shoulder” nor fucking cancer. It was some kind of bone spur. Somehow this diagnosis was confirmed by a blood test. I don’t know, whatever. Point being: Glenn-Clyde does not have cancer. Turns out he’s just a fat fuck who needs to eat less so that he doesn’t injure himself while lying around the apartment all day in a perpetual swoon. YAAAAAAAAAAAAAY.
UGLY: Stuffing a cat into a cat-carrier. Driving with a cat. The vet bill. The eating regimen we’re going to have to put both cats on, which will invoke endless torrents of bitchy meowing from Glenn-Clyde and Dennis, who, being indoor cats, have nothing better to do than eat between sprawling gluts of sleep.
METAL: In celebration of Glenn-Clyde’s victory over some lazy wannabe doctor’s inability to tell the difference between bone tissue and cancer tissue on an x-ray, I submit to you this glorious sludge hymnal by Kowloon Walled City.
It’s your turn to flush now. Bonus points for pet-related stories. (1 bonus point = 10 wasted seconds of your life.)
To tide you over the weekend, here’s your Weekly Wipe Playlist featuring a bunch of the shit we’ve covered this week on the site.
