My Little Bastard & Our Shitty Day

20140605-211353-76433301.jpgYesterday, I handled some work from home in the morning and had to deal with an obnoxious cat. You cat people know what I mean.

I’m sitting at the dining room table. The cat comes strolling along, casual as the night is dark and stands on the table. I yell at him and clap – in an effort to startle him off the table. What does he do? He looks at me and slowly, leisurely, lays down right where he had been standing. On the table. Bastard. I throw whatever small thing I’ve got handy at him to scare him off. It’s my pill container. Unfortunately, it’s not sealed and one of my meds pops out. I didn’t think anything of it. That is, until a few minutes later I look up from my work and realize that the bastard is eating something – the pill that popped out. I jump up and try to stop him, salvaging a tiny bit of the pill. He has eaten the rest of it. It takes me awhile to realize how dangerous this is. I explain what happened to my wife and we come to the conclusion that I need to go to the vet. Off I scoot, gathering the bastard into his kennel. I call into work – feeling very, very lesbian.

I mean, “Hi, I need to stay home because my cat is sick.” I might as well say that I’m slipping on my Birkenstocks and rushing him to the vet in my Subaru and Life is Good apparel.

A very expensive visit later, I drop the bastard off at home – having given him subcutaneous fluids at the vet without fainting (needles make super un-butch). Then, I’m off to work. I have a long day. I mean long. I hang up from my last call at 9:34 pm. Then it’s time to reply to some emails and do some work. I walk out of the office at 11:16. I’m not complaining because that is very rare. I’m just explaining my state of mind.

After work, I head to the pharmacy for cat meds. I think I’m going to pick up a quick bite as well, but I am quite wrong. Nothing is open except for
Wendy’s. I do enjoy Wendy’s, but I don’t want fast food tonight.

I’ll make something at home.

I get home and it’s time to care for the bastard. He needs two meds and more subq fluids. After changing, I get to work. He is unhappy with the first med. So much so that he scratches my stomach (it bled for awhile) and puts two holes in my fav t-shirt. Grrrr.

Then I’m off to handle the kitty litter and see he’s thrown up the charcoal in the hallway. In the shape of a penis, I might add. And again in the bathroom. After a significant amount of scrubbing, I finish the disgusting task. Next, a pill.

This time, I hold and pet him. Trying to soothe my little bastard. He has had a worse day than me, after all. He tries to wait me out – spitting out the half melted pill way, way after I give it to him. But I am more patient and he eventually gets the whole dose (I think). Finally, it’s the IV time.

The higher you hang the bag, the better, they said.

Well; I don’t have anywhere high so I get out a nail and hammer. After midnight, I quickly drive that nail to use as the IV hook. I wrap the bastard up in a “kitty burrito” as they suggested. I’m able to get the needle in and everything is working. I silently pat myself on the back. It takes about 10 minutes for the 150ml to find the way into his neck. I withdraw the needle as instructed and pinch his skin to keep the fluid in. Hooray! Problem is that the needle is pumping fluid out like a water pistol. Jesus, it’s hard to remember everything.

What a shitty day. Sometimes, it’s Butch just to get through it. Be Butch.

About Tristan Higgins, aka Butch Jaxon

I am a butch. This blog is about what I think. If you do not know what butch means, you are probably on the wrong blog. In the interests of inclusion, though, I can tell you that “butch” means a lesbian that is big, strong, tough, more macho, less girly. Of course, there are no hard and fast rules – which is an ongoing theme in my blog (and in the comments), but those are the basics. A butch will most likely not wear makeup. A butch is often referred to as “sir” by someone who is not paying attention. What else? I am, after all, not just a butch. I am happily married to the most amazing woman ever, and the mother of two fantastic kids. I am also a lover of, in no particular order, beer, bowties, breasts, movies, hiking, bookstores, travel, dogs, geocaching, polar bears, the gym, music, gadgets, and more. By day, I am an intrepid corporate entertainment lawyer. Although I try hard not to be labeled as such – sporting a bleached Mohawk, for example. Think more entertainment and less corporate. By night, bring it all on! In my blog, I talk about things from a butch perspective, but this is not just for butches. We all love our femmes. Please do not let me offend femmes, mine in particular! If you like what you read here, I hope you will comment and let me know what you think. If you do not like what you read, well, what the hell do I care? Start your own blog. Be Butch. View all posts by Tristan Higgins, aka Butch Jaxon

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