Friday evening, Andrea and I drove to an enormous U-Haul store that was bursting with every imaginable moving supply you could dream of. We were there to secure a couple garment boxes.
“What’s that scent?” Andrea asked me as we rode together in the car.
“Eau du candle. Eau candelee. That’s French for ‘we have too many candles’. Really. I’ve touched so many of them.” I said. We’ve been decluttering and depersonalizing the house and I’ve been rounding up the rogue candle supply.
“Oh. Smells good!” Andrea said.
We ran errands and came home to go to bed early because a woman was coming over at 8AM to assess our “discard or donate” situation. This is a benefit offered as part of the relocation package and we have a few large items they are going to help us get rid of.
Bogart joined us in bed and he wasn’t acting like himself. Then he threw up and it smelled. Bad. We consulted with Dr. Google and all signs pointed to a bowel obstruction. We headed to the emergency vet who confirmed our fears with an x-ray. The veterinarian went over the itemized cost of surgery. When she reached the line about sedation, Andrea asked, “For us?” and laughed nervously and I laughed along with her. The vet did not laugh.
We left Bogart at the pet hospital and prayed for a miracle - that he would pass this “thing”. The vet seemed to feel we would need a miracle for that to happen.
We rolled out of bed early Saturday to meet the discard and donate woman. I showed her around and sleepily forgot to mention a few chairs we were donating. Andrea assembled a new floor lamp and then said, “Let’s go back to bed.” We’d gotten home late the night before and had slept fitfully. And sleeping is a better coping skill than say, drinking, which I’ve given up years ago. I agreed with Andrea.
Later in the morning, the vet called with an update and the morning and reported, “Bogart’s behaving a bit like 'Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde.” Who can blame the guy? He was later re-x-rayed but the mystery object hadn’t made much movement towards his back door. That afternoon, we learned that it would need to be surgically removed. Fortunately, the surgery went well. The vet thinks that perhaps it was an ear bud that Bogart had swallowed – it’s being saved for us to look at. My cell rang at 6 something this morning, I automatically assumed bad news from the vet but it turns out that is their normal time to give an update. If all goes well today, Bogart will get to come home later. We plan to sequester him in a spare bedroom upstairs. He’s no stranger to this room having spent his first few weeks with us there. We’d affectionately referred to it as “the nursery” then and are now referring to it as “the infirmary”.
I've previously mentioned that I'd wed to Sally Safety. Sally, aka Andrea, would purchase every line of insurance available if I let her. We'd no doubt have a security system (definitely a possibility for the new place) if Andrea had free reign. In fact, we're furthering culling our list of places to move to based on the crime map of the area. Andrea's forbidden to join a neighborhood watch. She admits she would "need Xanax daily." if she were to join one. Andrea was in Virginia this week and would drive past places we're looking at living in. She's send a narrated video. This one is a great example of Sally in action. It may be sideways - the words are the important part.
Let's hope no one looks at the Hudson crime because there was a recent murder in town (not random - but not sure that makes it any better). Anyway, I've relented on pet insurance. Wrigley, Georgie and Bogart are each insured. THANK GOD. THANK SALLY. Because having a goddamn ear bud removed from your cat's guts is EXPENSIVE.
When we did get back out of bed and in motion yesterday, we did get a lot done to depersonalize and declutter our home in anticipation of listing it for sale. I am most proud of a large box we filled with mugs and glasses to donate! Back to work today. We’re starting in the infirmary, making sure it’s free of earbuds and any ingestible items which may be appealing to the cat.