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dragonlady7Woke at around seven. Spent some quality time with Z. Finally got up. He made coffee and started working on some more cables for AV stuff for the roller derby bout. I started to catch up on the Internet.
On the dot of nine, the phone rang.
I answered it.
It was Z's mother.
She just asked for Z. She sounded kind of upset. I handed him the phone. She asked him to come over right away.
She didn't ask for me, so I didn't go. I'm not showered, not dressed; Z was already fully clothed.
He hasn't called.
I'm guessing it's probably the dog, but I admit part of the reason I didn't want to go is that I didn't want to know yet. So I'm going to go take a shower in blissful ignorance, and if Z needs me, I'll at least be decent.
Edit:
Not the dog. But the cat. Not dead, but very sick: has not been eating, has not been pooping, and now, has not been drinking, and is very, very weak.
The cat and dog, for anyone who wasn't reading this journal two years ago when I briefly lived in the house and blogged them a lot, are a matched set. Roberta and Ernestine, but nobody calls them that: they're Bert and Ernie. Z's dad wanted a dog; Z's mom said ok but only if we can have a cat too, so she got a kitten from the humane society, while he went out and got a pedigree beagle because only a pedigree beagle would do. This was seventeen years ago now, when Z was a young boy, so he more or less grew up with these animals.
Bert is almost pure white now, though she started out a beautiful classic tricolor. She is deaf, and doesn't see well, but unlike most beagles is not obese, due to, well, Z's father's death. Z's mother doesn't spoil her the way Dad did. She was Z's dad's "girlfriend".
She is as dumb as a rock, like most beagles are, but again like most beagles, is devastatingly clever in certain ways. She can smell anything, anywhere, and will do anything to get at an interesting smell. She'd gnaw through the vacuum cleaner to get at the crumbs inside it. She's eaten metal baking pans to get at bread. She's eaten jars of lotion for their scent (and then had weeks of anal leakage... mmm).
She knows dozens of words, and has complex responses to them. You can work her into a frenzy by saying certain words. Saying "where's [person name]" will get her to go to that person; if the person is not present, she will go to the front window and look for them to be coming up the driveway.
Except, now she's deaf, so, not so much.
Ernie has always been a clever cat. Not the most personable, but affectionate on her own terms. She learned early on that while the dog would always outweigh her, she was sharper. Playing mind games with Bert has been a pastime for a very long time now. She likes to sit on the stairs when Bert wants to climb them, and simply watch. Bert has learned that she cannot get past Ernie if Ernie doesn't want her to.
One morning Z's mom woke him and said "Come here and look at this." Outside, on the lawn, was a deer. Sitting at its feet, looking pleased with herself, was Ernie.
Another time Z was walking home from school. As he came up the driveway, there was Ernie, sitting proudly with a dead snake at her feet, as if posed. As he approached, she got up and walked away. The snake got up and slithered away, as if the whole thing had been just a tableau assembled to make an impression.
Ernie has always been gray, but by now is a very white gray. She's always been small, but in age has become frail-looking. She shows her age less than Bert, and still goes outside to kill things, and still hides in improbable places throughout the house and yard and neighbor's yards.
Ah well. I hope that goes well. I feel less guilty about not tagging along now.
This is the first roller derby match for which I haven't had any out-of-town visitors. I haven't any blood relations attending, in fact. I tried to get people at work to come. Two of Z's cousins and a friend and two of one cousin's daughters will be attending, so I'm pleased about that-- relations by not-marriage are quite as good as blood relations, even if Z (this is awful) can't quite remember his cousin's daughter's names, or which one is which. I find this hilarious, but then, I haven't quite the embarrassment of riches he has, in blood relations-- my cousins have produced only one descendant in total. Whose name is A.J. though I don't remember what it stands for. My superiority evaporates, however, when I recall that I still have not met this relative of mine (second cousin? Cousin twice removed? Which is it? I've never puzzled this out)...
But I digress.
Z just called while I was writing this and explained that the vet thinks the cat is just having constipation issues, which, while serious and potentially fatal if she can't take in nutrition, is at least not as dire as what Z's mom had been expecting. She sounded so upset when she called.
On the dot of nine, the phone rang.
I answered it.
It was Z's mother.
She just asked for Z. She sounded kind of upset. I handed him the phone. She asked him to come over right away.
She didn't ask for me, so I didn't go. I'm not showered, not dressed; Z was already fully clothed.
He hasn't called.
I'm guessing it's probably the dog, but I admit part of the reason I didn't want to go is that I didn't want to know yet. So I'm going to go take a shower in blissful ignorance, and if Z needs me, I'll at least be decent.
Edit:
Not the dog. But the cat. Not dead, but very sick: has not been eating, has not been pooping, and now, has not been drinking, and is very, very weak.
The cat and dog, for anyone who wasn't reading this journal two years ago when I briefly lived in the house and blogged them a lot, are a matched set. Roberta and Ernestine, but nobody calls them that: they're Bert and Ernie. Z's dad wanted a dog; Z's mom said ok but only if we can have a cat too, so she got a kitten from the humane society, while he went out and got a pedigree beagle because only a pedigree beagle would do. This was seventeen years ago now, when Z was a young boy, so he more or less grew up with these animals.
Bert is almost pure white now, though she started out a beautiful classic tricolor. She is deaf, and doesn't see well, but unlike most beagles is not obese, due to, well, Z's father's death. Z's mother doesn't spoil her the way Dad did. She was Z's dad's "girlfriend".
She is as dumb as a rock, like most beagles are, but again like most beagles, is devastatingly clever in certain ways. She can smell anything, anywhere, and will do anything to get at an interesting smell. She'd gnaw through the vacuum cleaner to get at the crumbs inside it. She's eaten metal baking pans to get at bread. She's eaten jars of lotion for their scent (and then had weeks of anal leakage... mmm).
She knows dozens of words, and has complex responses to them. You can work her into a frenzy by saying certain words. Saying "where's [person name]" will get her to go to that person; if the person is not present, she will go to the front window and look for them to be coming up the driveway.
Except, now she's deaf, so, not so much.
Ernie has always been a clever cat. Not the most personable, but affectionate on her own terms. She learned early on that while the dog would always outweigh her, she was sharper. Playing mind games with Bert has been a pastime for a very long time now. She likes to sit on the stairs when Bert wants to climb them, and simply watch. Bert has learned that she cannot get past Ernie if Ernie doesn't want her to.
One morning Z's mom woke him and said "Come here and look at this." Outside, on the lawn, was a deer. Sitting at its feet, looking pleased with herself, was Ernie.
Another time Z was walking home from school. As he came up the driveway, there was Ernie, sitting proudly with a dead snake at her feet, as if posed. As he approached, she got up and walked away. The snake got up and slithered away, as if the whole thing had been just a tableau assembled to make an impression.
Ernie has always been gray, but by now is a very white gray. She's always been small, but in age has become frail-looking. She shows her age less than Bert, and still goes outside to kill things, and still hides in improbable places throughout the house and yard and neighbor's yards.
Ah well. I hope that goes well. I feel less guilty about not tagging along now.
This is the first roller derby match for which I haven't had any out-of-town visitors. I haven't any blood relations attending, in fact. I tried to get people at work to come. Two of Z's cousins and a friend and two of one cousin's daughters will be attending, so I'm pleased about that-- relations by not-marriage are quite as good as blood relations, even if Z (this is awful) can't quite remember his cousin's daughter's names, or which one is which. I find this hilarious, but then, I haven't quite the embarrassment of riches he has, in blood relations-- my cousins have produced only one descendant in total. Whose name is A.J. though I don't remember what it stands for. My superiority evaporates, however, when I recall that I still have not met this relative of mine (second cousin? Cousin twice removed? Which is it? I've never puzzled this out)...
But I digress.
Z just called while I was writing this and explained that the vet thinks the cat is just having constipation issues, which, while serious and potentially fatal if she can't take in nutrition, is at least not as dire as what Z's mom had been expecting. She sounded so upset when she called.
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Date: 2007-04-28 04:48 pm (UTC)By the way, you are a beautiful writer.
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Date: 2007-04-28 05:43 pm (UTC)Edit
Date: 2007-04-28 07:20 pm (UTC)- Z