So here’s a story:

Remember when I first told you about my sweet little birthday present? And then my interest began to wane, ’bout the time I realized he was sort of a fartknocker? And then finally I gave up hope altogether?


Yesterday, I took Oscar to the vet after a week ( of being obviously unwell. And yeah, yeah, I should have taken him earlier, but he was still jumping on counters and cuddling and drooling all over so I figured he couldn’t be too sick. Whatever.

And what I learned was that that stupid shit had a 36 inch piece of thread somehow attached to the bottom of his tongue (I mean, seriously. Seriously?) which was then, well, threaded (snort) all the way through his body to the very end. To fix it, the vet took X-rays, tried to yank it out, put him under, PERFORMED SURGERY IN MULTIPLE PLACES ALONG HIS STOMACH AND INTESTINAL TRACT and sewed him back up again. All in under two hours.

And all for the low, low price of a grand.


And I know a large number of you are screaming SUCKER! to your screens right now. I hear you. But the thing is, afterwards, when Jon and I talked about it, we agreed that in the end we had to do it for Jack, since he still asks for our cat who died last Spring. Oscar is really his cat, and we just didn’t think it would be fair to him – if we hadn’t chosen the surgery, he would have eventually died from starvation. That just seems cruel to me to be punished for something so.. stupid. Plus, in the end, I am too much of an animal lover. I just couldn’t let him die so arbitrarily.

(Though part of me still wonders if that was Darwinism in action, and trying to intervene was actually in fact messing with God’s design. Too late there, I guess.)

So the moral here? I have no idea. Don’t take in animals. Be a nudist so you have no need for thread in the house. Don’t have a son that looks at you with big brown eyes and asks when his cat’s coming home from the pet doctor.

Have an emergency stupidity fund.