VCA

VCA.

I haven’t written anything in a couple of days. That alone has driven me closer to madness.

Well, it could be the lack of writing, but it could also be mixing cat tranquilizer with tequila and beer. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not some sort of desperate druggie. I only did the cat tranquilizers because I ran out of pot and was looking for that little ‘umph’ that booze alone doesn’t seem to provide any more.

My stupid cat got into another fight. The wound became infected. The top of his head grew puffy with puss trapped under his skin. He gets into fights all the time. If I can catch the wound early enough and clean it myself, it’ll save a trip to the vet and anywhere between a $500 – $1000 vet bill. This time, the second time this year, cost me a little under $900. The cat had to have the top of his head shaved, two #2 pencil sized holes punched into his skin and what looked like a McDonald’s drinking straw cut in half, jabbed through the two holes so that the wound could ‘drain’. The vet said that she’d send home enough tranquilizer for two doses to help with the pain. I’ve had this cat for over ten years and each year he’s cost me plenty. Thousands. What about my pain. At the moment, my life being mostly shit, I figured I deserved something for it all. So, I conjured up enough false emotion and concern over the little beast to convince the vet to send with me four doses of tranquilizer. Party time.

I mean, I should get something for my efforts. After all, I would have to keep him indoors for almost two weeks till the wound healed. During that time I had to squeeze out more and more ‘discharge’. Change his litter box. And hand force-feed him antibiotics. All the while sweep up tufts of his black fur from all around the apartment on a daily basis.

Even with the four doses, there still wasn’t a whole lot of tranquilizer. At least, as far as I was concerned. I started the night as I always do, with a couple of shots. Cracked a beer. And was feeling alright. The next shot, I only poured half way. The rest I added the cat tranquilizer. I tossed it down. Didn’t taste a thing. Had a few more beers. Before I knew it, I was in outer space again.

I’d been in deep space only once, maybe twice before. And it took a whole lot more than just booze and weed. But this trip was taken at light speed. My estimates, made the Kessel Run in no more than 10 parsecs.

I wanted to write something that night. But there was a rather nasty post I’d written a week or so earlier that someone out there didn’t like. This someone didn’t have the cajones to give me their true name. Doesn’t matter. What they said about me was pretty much spot on. So I could take it. They were angry at me for hurting their little friend. They were too late. I was already hating myself for the hurtful words I’d sent out. And I had already apologized for it. But since I was so twisted with the tequila and tranquilizers, all I could do was rot in my own acidic brain juices.

I deleted the offending post. My life is still pathetically shit. But to my nameless admirer, any time, any where. Just let me know. And until then, I’ll be here, squeezing puss from my cat’s head.

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About magnumturtle

I write fiction.
This entry was posted in Daily writings and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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