Monday, July 14, 2008

Ginger's Nuts

I'm going to castrate my cat. And that's not a metaphor.

Our cat, named by darling daughter, despite the fact that he's not ginger (although he does have a nut...or two. But not for much longer...)...where was I...our cat, Gingernut is a big bag of heaving testosterone. He is, I am sure, quite the stud muffin on our estate. Long legs, markings to die for, and a good line in chat-up purrs. Grrrrowwwl. However, either (a) other toms in the neighbourhood are green with jealousy or (b) the female felines are having none of 'it'. Whichever it is, he keeps getting into set-tos with them and coming home with various problems.

The first, back in the spring, was a weepy eye full of conjunctivitis. This had me trotting to the animal hospital with him and discovering that our local vet is THE most stunning 6' something Italian with beautiful green eyes and an accent that made me go weak at the knees. And really really lovely too...not smarmy "bella, bella". Truly gorgeous. All the powers of writing I can muster cannot begin to describe the things that man did to me. Mighty mighty fine. I think I booked 3 return appointments (JUST to make sure the eye was definitely alright of course). I nearly developed a serious case of Munchausen's Syndrome by Feline Proxy, trying to work out what on earth I could do to get the cat back to the vet on a regular basis. However, forty odd quid later... and I was cured.

Then Sir Gingernut Catchmouse (if you want his full title) came home with a great big scar above his left ear, which I bathed and kept clean and hoped would heal of its own accord, cos even the Italian couldn't sway me to spend another forty quid that I haven't got. It did go, and the bald patch is now growing fur again, thankfully.

But then he came home with a limpy foot. He'd cut the pad on one of his hind feet and was moving around mostly on three legs. *sigh* This one couldn't be ignored I thought...he could have broken it for all I knew. But we were looking at that £40 again, absolute minimum, so this time I contacted the PDSA who are a veterinary charity that will treat pets for next to nothing, if you're on council tax benefit, which I am.

So, off we went this morning. Well...what an experience.

As I arrived in the car park, there were two women parking and stepping out of their car, both smoking, with a little girl in the car with them. 2 years old...possibly 3. AND one of the women was heavily pregnant as well.

Then as I queued at reception, a dog behind us went for Gingernut's cat-basket, and when I looked round to see what had just pushed me, the man who owned the dog glaaaaaared at me like it was my fault. Eh?!

Then I had to deal with Attila the Hun *read ' receptionist'* who was speaking to everyone like they'd just peed on her children or something.

Then I had the joy of sitting next to a couple whose dog kept farting the stinkiest farts you've ever encountered. They smelt exactly like dog poo...well, they would wouldn't they?

Then that couple went into a consulting room, and another family sat down, and the mum was moaning at the dad quite loudly because the dad wanted to hit their son (a grown up son, but hey...).

And then, to top off this cornucopia of delights (and I would just like to remind everyone that I am a redhead)...the door on the furthest side of this jam-packed waiting room opened, and the vet calls out "Mrs Willicombe - Gingernut?!" And as I stood and walked across the room, there was audible giggling.


And just to add a little more to the ordeal, I had to deal with Attila again, who actually, physically dismissed me with a wave of her hand. And I'd just put a donation in their blummin' box 'n' all!!!!

So all of these scrapes he keeps getting into because of his hormones are stopping right now! They're coming off boy, they're coming off.