sammy, the stray i'm "fostering," had developed a strange lump on her head. it looked like a bug bite initially, but kept getting bigger and bigger, until it was golf ball sized the other night. in a surprising move on god's part, as soon as i said the words, "i will definitely take her to the vet, that isn't a bug bite or a knock on the head," the cat proceeded to scratch the thing open and leak a delightful mixture of pus and blood everywhere.
now, i've had a pile of cats and dogs throughout my life, and while this is a disgusting thing to have occur, it's actually an okay thing--once the wound is reopened, it can drain. the problem was, sammy, normally a very sweet little thing, was very bothered by anything we used to try to help clean the wound. she continued to make the injury worse, so after a bit over 24 hours of this, i took her to the vet.
the veterinary saga began on the j train on the way home. i probably should've taken this odd occurence as a sign of more ridiculousness to come (usually it piles on). a teenage girl wandered in, straight up wearing a prom dress. at 1 pm. she also had mussed up make-up and hair going on, and looked a bit sleep deprived. i texted some friends inquiring if this was the worst walk of shame they'd ever heard of; richard said no. using more delicate terms than he did, the prom dress as a modern day equivalent to bloody sheets hanging out the matrimonial window seemed an exciting prospect.
i put this out of my mind and go to collect the poor cat. the first driver (what, did you think i was going to haul a caged, injured cat all the way to williamsburg on the train? and then walk to grand from the j? in 85 degree heat?) refused to take me because of the cat, because he was afraid of cats. even, i guess, caged ones. the second driver was very helpful: he opened the door for me, chatted a bit, and really went out of his way to get to the animal hospital quickly. At which point, he leaned over and gave me his telephone number in case i wanted to "hang out." if i call and his wife answers, i'm to hang up the phone immediately.
inside the vet's office, there is a tiny black fluffy dog which is pooping styrofoam. i will say no more about this other than i saw it do it. "styrofoam" is not a metaphor here.
sammy is now at the vet's office overnight. apparently the bump on her head was a bite that didn't heal properly, from before we took her in last week, and got worse (possibly because we introduced the concept of cat litter into her life shortly after she received the bite). as it turns out, this bite was most likely given to her by her boyfriend (in the words of the strangely antonio banderasesque vet). while he was impregnanting sammy. did you know that kitties can get abortions? i didn't, but now i do! thankfully, the vet decided to not charge me for some services, and give me breaks for others. suave method of flirtation or genuine sympathy for the dumb blonde who couldn't even tell her stupid stray foster cat was pregnant? you be the judge.
leaving the cat there overnight allowed me another chance to ride on the subway. sitting across from me was a person who i initially thought was male, wearing a t-shirt that said "i hate crooked cops." this sentiment was illustrated with a picture of a smurf.
all of this before 4pm! excitement never ends. i'll let ice cube express my opinion of today; he does so more eloquently and succinctly than i (obviously) can.