Wouldn't this be relaxing?
I know this blog has been all-pets-all-the-time, live-nude-pets, but I got a call from the vet yesterday, and it turns out Francis' irritated bowel is more irritated than we thought. He has ANEMIA, the poor thing. So the vet said we could not just go with Fancy Feast; I had to schlep on out to the local pet supply store and buy canned rabbit for my cat.
Canned rabbit. And by the way, it's made by Dick Van Patten, this food, which is just weird because I just MENTIONED him yesterday. Also, Beverly Sills totally works at the store. "That'll be $200.99!" she bellowed, breaking glass.
Honest engine, you guys, this CANNED RABBIT (I wish I could tell you how bad it creeps me out to be feeding a bunny to my cat) is TWO DOLLARS AND FORTY-NINE CENTS A CAN.
So that means Francis gets his own bowl of food, and now Henry and Winston have to eat over here on the counter and get rid of all the Fancy Feast I bought, and note I am using one of our real plates because I have no other cat dishes, and I have become the lady with the crystal top-heavy dish.
ting ting ting!
I love rabbits. I had my own rabbit in college–a big white bunny named Roxanne. Now I am FEEDING her to my cat.
Anyway. I also have to drive out to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches, and I wish I'd get on stupid song tangents a little more today, and at any rate I have to pick up some steroids for Fran as well. He told me he wants to bulk up a little after this, get him some womenses. He also asked if I'd sign him up for a few tanning booth sessions.
Can you smell what The Fran is eating?
In other news, ridiculous Edsel is home, and I am supposed to be keeping him quiet.
He is a six-month-old puppy. Who is supposed to be being sedate and quiet. FOR TWO WEEKS.
Did I mention …! ?
He seems fine.When he saw me down the hall at the vet, he started an endless whine, and peed the entire hallway. Follow the yellow brick road, indeed.
He peed all the way to the counter where I was, peed on the vet tech's hand, peed on my arm and peed on his own paw. The whole time he said, "mmmmmmmmmmmmm!" in a voice higher than Beverly Sills'. I guess he was glad to see me and to get the HELL out of that castrating hellhole.
They gave him a painkiller that they said was kind of like aspirin, but to call if I felt he needed something stronger. They called to check on him today and I said yeah, let's go to the oxycontin or whatever because he does check his stitches out more than I'd like. So I will be taking a road trip to get TWO prescriptions and I am starting to feel like Elvis' assistant.
I will do comment of the week tomorrow, because believe it or not I have had no time to read all the comments to decide. I have been too busy boiling bunnies.
I won't be IGNORED, Francis.