Suck It, Bascope Veterinary Hospital: By Sunny Hepinstall
October 8, 2012 § 17 Comments
I only regret that I have but ten pounds of flesh and fur to hate you with, animal hospital from hell. It doesn’t seem enough. This morning, the Drone Who Cleans My Litter Box rushed me over here because I was disoriented, staggering and panting – in other words, acting LIKE A DOG. That was my only apparent crime, and now I languish in this cruel cell where the litter doesn’t clump and the wet food is a low-grade yellowfin, trailer trash of the sea.
Two idiots have come to take my blood – a lab boy with infected tattoos and a blond girl who walks heavily and is perhaps even lower on the totem pole than he is. I am a cat and do not love, but even I can see they have the expressions of two otters floating around holding hands. He’s busy telling her that 911 was a conspiracy and she is probably deficient in Vitamin D, which I suppose passes for courtship behavior these days. Meanwhile the infected Lothario draws too much blood and I go flat while they’re gazing into each other’s eyes.
Oh my God, I scream at him. Just rub your head on her face and mark your territory like a man.
But the blissful almost-couple ignores me and eventually drifts away, leaving me to the four platelets I have left.
An old Persian named Porn Star Mustache sits zen-like in a cage to my right.
Infected anal glands, he confides in a whisper before I ask.
How long have you been here? I inquire.
I keep faking relapses so I won’t have to go back to my frat boy owner who, yes, is still a frat boy after eight years, which tells you something. As much as I hate it here, it beats having some idiot blow bong smoke up your nose while Nickelback blasts on some kind of hellish loop.
I am happy for the companionship of Porn Star Mustache. Not so much for my neighbor directly below me, an obese labrador retriever that Richard Simmons had to cut out of his house. He’s here to lose weight and lick people’s hands and love everyone. Don’t ask me why he’s in the cat section. He’s just happy to be here. I roll my eyes.
Some woman with quivery brows and an impatient expression just shoved three pills down my gullet.
Nurse Ratched, Porn Star Mustache whispers quietly. One of the rabbits bit her and she arranged a lobotomy. No one can really tell the difference.
Well, Day One has already passed and I have yet to see the Doctor. Until my next report, I remain your sleek and moody correspondent who will suffer your company only long enough to describe my personal hell.
The fat lab just licked the bottom of my paw. I am so creeped out right now.