Let’s face it, a nurses job is never done. This morning I’m having coffee with my new furry chipmunk friend who’s convalescing from an unexpected play date with ThatGoddamnedCat.
I affectionately named her LuckyBastard for obvious reasons, and I’m pretty sure she’s going to make it, as there’s no evidence of broken skin or internal bleeding. Unfortunately, I can’t completely rule out internal injuries because my rodent CT machine is down.
Plus, I’m obviously bullshitting you, because I don’t actually have that much needed piece of equipment that every cat owner should totally own.
And yes, I praised ThatGoddamnedCat for bringing dinner home.
He knows I hate to cook on Fridays.
Brownie points to ThatGoddamnedCat.
The dogs are going absolutely berserk at the moment, because I have LuckyBastard on the kitchen table hanging out in nurse Gina’s ICU for-unfortunate-play-dates-of-ThatGoddamnedCat, which is actually just a warm towel in a tall Hollister bag.
Her yummy chipmunk smell is driving them both batshitcrazy.
Actually, Sketch who’s three is the one who’s pacing and nosing around like a juvenile spider money on crack. I honestly don’t think Tucker (12y/o German Shepherd) even cares, because he’s retired from hunting prey and all other unnecessary dog related nonsense. Also, the poor guy can’t see or hear very well. He lives to chill out and protect the house.
I’m pretty sure he’s only anxious because he’s picking up batshitcrazy little dogs vibes. In fact, his poop just fell out, so I’m like 100% convinced it’s pure anxiety.
*Poop falling out is distinctly different than pooping on the kitchen floor, because this particular dog would never ever do that. He’s simply a well-mannered geriatric fellow who got anxious and well… shit happens.
Truth be told, I think this brainy canine who’s uber awesome in every way, had like one (maybe two) accidents in his entire lifetime.
We brought him home at 6 weeks and POOF! he was potty trained. He’s smarter than most people and a helluva lot easier to train than a human child.
I’m pretty sure he’s still humiliated over that one or two accidents he had when he was a pup, because if I remember correctly, his expression was all like…. “Ohhhh… you want me to go out there?? Why didn’t you just say so, master… I understand over a hundred different languages. Where’s the paper towels and carpet spray? I shall clean it up.”
And that was that.
The little guy on the other hand, who’s a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel was obviously bred exclusively for companionship and keeping humans warm because his only assets are a viable heart beat, cuteness and ability to snuggle.
End of story.
I’m not complaining though. Adorable, snuggly companions who don’t sass, talk back or ask for money are hard to come by.
Back to LuckyBastard. She’s resting comfortably nestled in her Hollister bag where this strapping young beach dude is protecting her. Her breathing is fast, but regular and reflexes seem to be intact.
I think she’s going to be fine.
I’m glad she stopped by to visit.
Mornings are anything but boring around here.
The following has been yet another adventure from… The Chronicles of ThatGoddamned Cat.