Earlier this year I made some back of the envelope calculations and realized that we needed to make financial cutbacks. It’s almost like I foresaw this whole debt ceiling fiasco. So I thought about it for a while, looked around my family, and decided that we’d do away with Nicki’s annual visits to the vet. What? Did you think that I should do away with my children’s food or perhaps my flutes of champagne? I’m not animal.
But Nicki is, which means she loses.
It took a few months for my daughter to catch on. All winter she protested on the grounds that healthcare is important. Great. Thank you, Komrade Obama for brainwashing children. But I was all “eh, she’s an indoor cat, she’ll be fine.” And we enjoyed the $150 savings for another month.
And then in the spring notes began to appear by my computer.
MAKE AN APPOINTMENT FOR NICKI! they read. DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO BELLA’S DOG?
Which is totally rude, because Jacob wasn’t a dog, he was Bella’s friend.
So my daughter explained to me that Bella’s dog was fine and then it was NoLongerAlive. And I’m like “what does that have to do with Nicki?” And she was like, “EVERYTHING!” So, match point, dear daughter. You ran circles around me logically with that one.
Except she wasn’t done. Because as her 13th birthday approached, she intensified her efforts.
By telling me that all she really wanted for her birthday was for Nicki to have a check up and maybe a vaccination, if it wasn’t too much to ask.
I was totally Kool & The Gang with that because I knew that as soon as she saw the new Abercrombie & Fitch shorts I’d gotten her, she’d forget who the hell Nicki was.
But no. She had to tell everyone she knew about her Very Special Birthday Wish.
And you know what suckers people are.
They’re all “aww!” and “What a sweet girl!” with an undercurrent of what kind of monster is Marinka, anyway?
So I had to be defensive and murmur “you know, the economy, fucking Michele Bachmann” and even though no one knew what that meant, they started to look less judgmental and more scared.
Just the way I like it.
I’m not sure what the tipping point was for me, but finally I was all fuck it, let’s lift the debt ceiling and take her in. To be euthanized. Oh, calm down, I mean check up.
Unfortunately I couldn’t take her in myself because I had a bon bon tasting event to attend, but Mama and my daughter did.
I called Mama to give her explicit instructions.
“Just the basic check up,” I warned. “Nothing fancy.”
“Like no blood work. I don’t need her cholesterol checked.”
“Ok.” Mama agreed. Although I could tell that she was worried about Nicki’s triglycerides.
They took Nicki in.
And it’s a good thing that they did.
Because Nicki gained three quarters of a pound.
Like the idiot that I am, I didn’t at first realized the severity of the situation.
Because Mama explained to me that for an 8 lb. cat gaining nearly a pound is like someone “your size, Marinka, gaining 80 pounds.”
I can’t even figure out the math on that one to know how offended I should feel.
But Nicki is super offended, because she’s off the Fancy Feast and on some Science Diet.
Also known as a hunger strike.
One year ago ...
- The Birthday List - 2012