This morning the fire alarms went off. Not in a blaring “There’s a fire!” sort of way, but a soft occasional “beep” that varied in timing and totally prevented us from sleeping through it. The damn things were out of batteries. 3 of them. At 6 AM. My beloved husband trucked around the house, dragging out the ladder and fixing them. Thank God for Tony.
On my way home, I encountered, or almost encountered with my tires, a little scruffy white dog, of the Maltese/Bichon-Frise type. It skittered out of the way, and stood in the street staring at my car. I watched it in the rearview for a moment, but it didn’t leave the street, just kept looking at me. So I pulled a u-turn and drove back toward it. I thought if the poor animal was too dumb to get out of the street, it would not last more than 5 minutes alone. I walked over to it, and said, “Hey puppy…” It crawled over to me on its tummy. I noticed a collar, and I looked at her tag. Scarlett. Very Southern. No address, just a phone number.
So I went back to the car to pull out the cell phone, and Scarlett scampered off down the street as I tried to dial the number. Of course I, being soooo good with numbers, had forgotten the last 4 digits, and had to look at her collar again. She raced back when I called her, ears back, tongue out, loving this attention. She collided with, then overshot my legs at a furious speed, and then wriggled over on to her back between my feet. Silly doggy. I called the number, no answer. I left a message. Now what do I do with this dog? I submitted to the obvious, and packed her in my backseat.
When I retold this story to Tony, he said, “You put it in your car?” Now, I am not sure his emphasis was because it was a strange dog, or because I am notorious for hating doggy hair/smell/messes in my car… I am going to assume it’s because she was a strange dog, because my charity should be well known enough by now, 5 cats later. What, am I gonna leave her in the street??
So Scarlett and I arrived at the house. I decided to put her in the back yard, because I have enough experience to know I can’t completely trust strange dogs. I didn’t want her maybe flea-ridden ass on our carpet terrorizing the cats. Outside, she was an oddity, a show for the kids. They loved watching her in the yard.
While I was washing the car, the doggy sat on a leash we have, and watched me, being very 乖. I actually missed having a doggy around, because even the calmest of my cats couldn’t have been that 乖 in the face of spraying water. It is a feline characteristic to act as if new stimuli were burning them alive from the inside out when they are on a leash. Especially water-related stimuli.
Then doggy started to shiver. At first I thought it was because she was nervous, but then I realized that 40-odd degree weather in that thin little coat of hers was probably to blame, not to mention the icy cold concrete. So I brought her inside. Her caretaker came and collected her while I was washing the car, and I gave her happily.
Thank God she didn’t get stuck with me. What if the phone number hadn’t worked. Or worse yet, what if the woman had been on vacation or had voluntarily given Scarlett the boot because of some manic shoe-chewing problem? But it all worked out for the best, and I hope that karma reflects on Mecca’s status.
It’s been more than a week since I brought Jie into the vet, and maybe, just maybe she can come home Saturday. Maybe. I asked the doctor if I could bring her into an exam room to exercise her, and he said sure. At which point she began chewing paper. A la this. So I asked the hospital staff if I could feed her, what could I feed her, is this OK, and when I gave Mecca the food she ate like someone starving.
I want to bring her home. Now. But the doctor said he saw something else cancerous in her throat, and…I’ll wait till he says she’s safe to come back.
And, FYI, if you live in the Dallas area, there’s a lovely, sweet little boy waiting for you at the Humane Animal Hospital. I go every day to visit Mecca, whom the staff have been calling 姐姐 (jie-jie) and 小姐 (xiao-jie) like I do. They said that she started rubbing furiously and being very well-behaved after that, which is a testament to HOW MUCH SHE WANTS TO COME HOME!!!!!!
Sorry, so anyway, I see this monster tabby boy, a very pretty brown tabby, with startling green eyes, who tries to play with me through the bars every day. He reminds me of Taylor, but bigger, if you can believe it. He talks to me like Sa does, and tries to squish his cute little nose out of the cage to be petted.
He needs an expensive surgery, and his mommy “stopped returning (the vet’s) calls”. Shit. Fucking people. This is where I am torn. I think Tay would love to play with this guy, and maybe Kiki too, but I have an ailing cat aready, and I can’t afford to help the kitty. I can’t imagine how he feels to be so alone, to have no one come visit him. It’s awful, and I talk sweet to him every time I go, and play with him through the bars, because I don’t want to hold him and make Mecca jealous. I say “Good Kitty” in my mommiest voice, and they both think it’s for them. And it is.
He’s been there alone, longer than Mecca has. And he’s a good boy. And it kills me. So if you want a wonderful kitty that admittedly needs major surgery, please call the Humane Animal Hospital at (972) 578-2553 and let them know. I just can’t sacrifice the well-being of my kitties for this one kitty’s well-being.
But I think God is looking me out of his clear green eyes and judging me for not bringing him home. I will never forget his little face.