That Could Have Been My Gambling Money

We have a cat. OK, my wife has a cat that I became co-owner of upon my marriage. Figaro, or Figgy or &@#!# as I often call her was born in my wife’s backyard 16 years ago. Needless to say, she is part of the family. At least that’s how I felt after she adopted me 5 years into marriage on that fateful day when she decided not to hiss at me anymore when I attempted to get into bed. The relationship I have with Figgy now is wonderful. I get to clean up whatever emanates, leaks or is projected from either one of her ends. She makes a mess and then looks at me knowing that I will lower my head and clean up after her. Whoever thought I would become a cat’s B-tch. On a similar timeline, she finally decided to acknowledge the existence of Lucy and Ethel a few months ago; mind you, that’s four years into their lives. In fact, she even sleeps some nights in Ethel’s bed, which has caused severe mental anguish and an inferiority complex for Lucy. I deal with that by explaining that Lucy was much more popular than Ethel was. It’s worked well so far.

Prior to a scare we got last night (hence the reason for this post), the closest that ole Figaro came to bodily injury or giving us a scare was when she would fall asleep on top of the couch and fall off. As we were too busy watching TV, we would know she fell off by a sudden thud and meow. We would look over the couch only to find her shaking her head before trouncing off to pout at my laughing at her. Last night as I went to bed, I found her in Lucy and Ethel’s room crying out to me. She could not get up and when she finally did, she was dragging one of her front paws. There was no sign of pain so we assumed that at her age she might have had a stroke.

She was taken to the vet today for examinations and tests and we expected the worst. Several hours later, we were told that she didn’t appear to be dying, to the best of the doctor’s ability. It’s assumed that she does have a leg injury and we were sent packing with three different medications and instructions to call the vet every day through next week. Obviously, I was relieved when my wife called me with this news, until she said that we essentially paid $500 to be told that Figaro could come home and that we really don’t know what happened. Let me recap, $500 for no real answer. So, if the vet used the words, ‘I don’t know what’s wrong,’ to describe her condition, it worked out to $100 per word. I gotta tell you, I used to be a freelance copywriter and never even got a quarter of that per word. Apparently, I was under charging.

Now I know that veterinarians are very important and offer a great service and that Figgy’s diagnosis could have gone either way, but that’s a lot of money for a guess. I could have gambled that money and had a chance to at least make some of it back. Well, not in roulette, which reminds me to tell you that you should never bet NASCAR numbers when playing roulette. It’s not that I’m cheap, unless you consider it cheap to buy only pregnant fish so that I get about 10 for the price of 1 or having my wife cut my hair. Although in her defense, she’s really good at it and it’s hard to mess up the short and spiky look.

Even though they weren’t grand plans, I did have hopes of using that $500 other ways. I could have gotten new tires for my truck since they’re almost as bald as Patrick Stewart is or bought eggnog in bulk next Christmas and so I could freeze it to enjoy the whole year round, thus eliminating my annual nasty mid-June withdrawals. I could have purchased about 8 gallons of gas here in Southern California or hired a really cheap lawyer to contest my paternity of Anna Nicole’s child. I might even have been able to buy a door for my office cubicle or a sport coat that actually fits me. That money could have been used to finance my Off-Broadway production of ‘Welcome Back Kotter the Musical.’ I’ve been working on getting Squiggy to play Horschack, it’s pure genius. Lastly, I could have paid that guy Jimmy back for the money I borrowed last time I was in Vegas. After all, I’m going to have to answer my phone and front door eventually.

I’m glad to know that Figgy will be with us for a while longer and that she might even regain the use of her front paw. Every time I’m bending down to clean up her regurgitated dinner, hair and hourly litter box deposit, or when I find myself sleeping on the edge of the bed so that she can be comfortable, I’ll remember the best $500 I ever spent…Welcome back, to that same old place that you laughed about. Well the names have all changed since you hung around, but those dreams have remained and they're turned around. Who'd have thought they'd lead ya (Who'd have thought they'd lead ya) Here where we need ya (here where we need ya). Yeah we tease her a lot cause we've got her on the spot, welcome back, welcome back, welcome back, welcome back…