Vet Schmet

One of the many things I hate about pet ownership is taking them to the vet. I have a few reasons for this (all of which you will soon be familiar with.) For starters, I think it's ridiculous to pay upwards of $30 just for an office visit. However, Madeleine somehow gimped up one of her legs and after a few days of seeing her hobble around I made a guess at what a responsible pet owner might do and brought her in.

For about the first 15 minutes in the waiting room, I recalled my youth when I wanted to be a vetrinarian, and even briefly considered someday still getting a job at a vet clinic. This idea was vaporized circa minute 27 (still in the waiting room), when someone I could immediately tell was a crazy cat lady brought in "Blackie". The exam room door was cracked, so my instincts were totally confirmed as first she asked for Dr. So-and-So "because she's seen Blackie before." Ugh. Then , when the doctor got in there she proceeded to tell this poor doctor many trivial things that no one could ever possibly want to know. It culminated in the explanation of how Blackie has a family history of cardiomyopathy and would at some point require an echocardiogram. What?? I have to confess that I had never considered a cat as having a family history of anything. Just another tally in the bad pet owner column, for not asking my cripply cat about her family's medical background.

Another thing I hate about the vet's office is a little thing I call "Vet Stench". I suppose it's a combination of stinky pets, urine, abcesses, fear, and, if the waiting room was any indicator, rancid pet owners. This office was nearly unbearable, as were the people next to me and the tech who kept referring to Madeleine as my "baby".

After about an hour I was finally introduced to a doctor, whose accent and voice sounded exactly like Ricky Martin, but who looked like... I don't know. The opposite of Ricky Martin. Anyway, he did smell pretty good so I was in no position to complain. He was very nice, as I've found all vets to be, and after another hour of waiting in the putrid waiting room for Xrays and their results, he finally showed me with lots of enthusiasm an unbroken foot. So after two hours I pretty much where I'd started, plus a fear that I had started to take Vet Stench onto my person. (Which I in fact had.)

Oh yeah, and I was minus $118 dollars. ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN DOLLARS! To tell me my stupid cat was not broken! I wanted to throw up right there. Instead, I took my cat, or baby, or whatever, and the medicine Dr Jorge gave me, and went home.
This was yesterday. Today, Madeleine still has a gimp in her unbroken foot. As a perk, Dr Jorge's magic elixor made her sick.

On my pillow.