BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

This blog post originally ran in July 2007. Since Jasper AKA Meatlump left for the great yarn basket in the sky this past Monday, after 19 years of hacking up furballs and purring his way through life with us, I thought it only fitting to re-run this bit about him.

*     *     *     *     *

Cat Hemorrhoids…

No, not that pain in the a** you get from having too many cats. Although, having too many cats is a definite pain in the a**.

As many of you know, my wife and I have rescued cats for years. They usually come to us as abandoned, abused, special needs, what have you. We take them in and try to find homes for them. We aren’t as active in this as we once were, especially now that I travel so much. However, over the years we have ended up with some of the special needs felines living with us, simply because they weren’t easy to place.

Now, this is not to say that we didn’t get attached to them. We did. But, the reality is, we have a whole raft of cats who need special care. For instance, one is highly allergic to everything. She manifests her allergies in an odd way, however. Most cats get a skin irritation or some such. But not this one. She ends up with chronic sinusitis and sneezes constantly.

Two others are insulin dependent diabetics. And, regular old humulin, which is what they used to take, has been discontinued. Sooooo, instead of 30 bucks a month for two vials of insulin, we now spend about 200 bucks per month for the vet insulin. This does NOT include the cost of syringes.

There are others, but Jasper (aka MeatLump) is the subject of this blog. You see, MeatLump has bowel issues. As in chronic constipation. Lovely, I know. Ever tried giving a cat an enema? Not a pleasant task, believe me. Anyhow, because of this, MeatLump got himself a case of the ‘roids. Now, I can sympathize. Having been there I know it ain’t fun. But, you can’t really get one of those donuts for cats to sit on.

Well, MeatLump got out of the house. Escaped. Went over the wall. Beat feet. Zipped out. Generally, got away from his horrible captors. Us. At any rate, it has been hot in STL, and he went and hid. The ‘roids got worse. A gland ruptured. It remained hot. He remained hidden. Flies did their thing. Soooo, when we finally caught up with him it was not good.

He spent a bit of time at the vet, and is doing well now. He will heal up just fine. However, because of the rupture, the ensuing larvae, etc, much shaving occured. While I sympathize with the little bastard, I can’t help but laugh. I think the picture below will show why (Trust me, not gross. Just funny.)

So, there you have MeatLump. Roid kitty sans fur.

More to come…

Murv

Maybe I’m just old fashioned…

Then again, maybe not.

I just haven’t quite figured it out yet.

But old fashioned or not, here’s my thing – There was one room in her house that always remained locked… It was… The garage.

No… Wait… That’s Keys To Her Ferrari by Thomas Dolby. Great song, but not where I was headed with this. Besides, we don’t have a garage and the only room E K keeps locked is her “play room” in the basement, and she only does that so her “toys” can’t escape.

Let’s see… Where was I? Oh, yeah…

Here’s my thing – There’s one room in the house where I absolutely refuse to talk on the telephone. It is… The bathroom.

Now, I realize this might sound odd. I mean, after all, there is a wide and varied history of telephones in bathrooms. I’ve stayed in many a hotel over the years where a telephone was stuck to the wall right there next to the stool. Hell, I once stayed in a hotel in New Orleans where the phone was positioned in such a way as to be usable from  the stool, the bidet, and/or the tub itself. I actually took a picture of that, although I can’t seem to find it at the moment. Of course, I was probably just as fascinated by the fact that the room had a bidet. Yeah… I know what they are for, but I was hard pressed not to do a Crocodile Dundee impersonation just for the hell of it. And, since the hotel happened to be in the French Quarter (Yeah, I know, French… Bidet… I can add) there would have been plenty of folks down on the street to hear me yelling from the window.

But like I said, I’ve stayed in plenty of hotels where there was a telephone in the crapper. Not just in NOLA.

Of course, I should probably take a moment to note that  I absolutely despise talking on the phone at ALL, and will avoid it at all costs.  Besides the fact that I just don’t like the damn thing, due to an injury during my EARLY teens my hearing has been substandard for the better part of my life, and in recent years has grown much worse… MUCH worse. Literally to the point that talking on the telephone is a rather painful chore for me even under the best of circumstances, because I simply cannot understand the person on the other end of the line.

But that really isn’t my point.

You see, when necessary I will talk on the phone. By necessary I mean it had damn well better be a dire emergency. Seriously. But not when I am in the bathroom.  For me to do that it would need to be a dire emergency squared. Of course, there’s no way for me to know that because I won’t answer the phone when I am in the bathroom. For the record, no, we don’t have a phone in there. However, we ARE in the era of Cell Phones, and I pack one around on my belt just like most everyone else. I use it for emergencies mostly. And I text. I didn’t used to text, but now I do. My eyes still work as long as I am wearing my glasses, so we’re all good there.

But you know what? I won’t even text while I’m in there.

There’s just something about the sanctity of the porcelain throne room that precludes me from chatting with anyone. I just don’t see a reason for telephone conversations in the bathroom. Sure, now that I am getting older I can certainly understand the idea of the classic, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” sort of communication from inside the tiled closet, and that can certainly come in the form of a phone call to 911 or something.

But why in the world would I want to carry on a convo while I’m doing my business?

Chirp-Ring-Chirp-Warble…

(sigh) (reach) (flip) “Hello?”

“Hey, Murv. This is your broker. How are you today?”

“Ummm… Okay, I guess.”

“So, do you have a minute?”

“I guess so. I… umm… well… I have some paperwork I’ll need to get after here rather shortly.”

“Ahh, working eh? Writing a new book?”

“Well, not right at this very moment… Actually I’m getting rid of last night’s dinner.”

“Oh, I see. Cleaning the fridge.”

“Not exactly. More like… Umm… Well. Taking a dump.”

“Your fridge broke?”

“No… Not taking it to the dump. Taking a dump.”

“Ohhh, okay, I get it. Well since you’re sitting down…”

More to come…

Murv