Hey, today was a good day. Didn't have to use my litter tray
Today was quite a day, and it's not quite over.
I'm writing this from the Emergency Hospital in St. Paul, where the nurse was kind enough to let me use her computer, for a small fee, of course. I said just tack it on my "aide de camp's" credit card along with everything else, and she just smiled back knowingly.
You see, I became quite ill this morning when administered my morning insulin shot. My owner didn't notice this, of course, because afterwards he promptly left for work. But something was not right with your's truly! Upon waking, Stephanie grew wise to my condition after finding me curled up next to my own dung, and unable to walk more than three steps without toppling over. Did your kitty hero get himself into a mess o' the Captain's private booze stash and go off on a jag? Or was there something "medical" at the root of my problem?
Well, first let me explain to you how diabetes mellitus works. My pancreas or kidneys or some silly organ in the vicinity of my ass doesn't produce insulin like it is supposed to do. Insulin is needed to keep one's blood sugar from rising too high such that they don't become like a proverbial spaz and go streaking in public or support Patty Wetterling's Senate bid.
But the opposite happened this morning. I was given too much insulin! That's bad too! My normally off the chart blood sugar level fell into negative territory, much like Ted Kennedy's presidential aspirations after driving that one girl off a bridge or being caught doinking some other hussy on his boat outside Hyannisport. But enough about politics... I was majorly fucked up! I kept on falling over and couldn't make it to the food bowl or the litter box.
My owner, upon returning from work, wished to make like Russia and delay any sort of ruling on Iran's nuclear policy until at least mid march, but his strong willed (or coercive, if you like.. I decline an opinion) sweetheart thought it was best to bring me to the kitty emergency hospital, where a minimum visit/consultation costs $96. Thanks a ton Stephanie, you either saved my life, or killed CPA's personal income expectations for the month of January, or both. But I'm having a ball right now!
The vet was a very nice man who shared a last name with our president. He said I had an extreme case of hyperglycemia or that, more seriously, I might have a serious condition brought upon from stress related to having an owner with an oversized penis! The nice vet tech girl offered to check the second conjecture, but Stephanie was all about business.
So they got me where I am now, doped up on a catheter/IV with a nice bowl of sugary sludge in front of my face and "Wedding Crashers" playing on the 52 inch TV. Not bad at all! They say I get to stay here until at least three in the morning, at which time Stephanie will play prime party pooper and take me home.
The vet offered a bill which ranged between $800 and $1200, depending on how big of a sucker your owner is. Apparently if you're already there they figure you're a pretty big jerk-off to begin with! CPA sniffed a trap and made known his intention to take me home immediately, but again Stephanie came to my rescue! She said no, the cat is staying until he gets a clean bill of health. Haha, the joke is on all of them because that will never happen!
I'm still partying it up on University Ave right now as we speak, and that bill is much like the meter in a taxi cab, except that it goes up in $50 increments rather than mere change. Thanks Stephanie, you're the greatest! When I get out, I'm giving this nice pink bandaid wrapped around my paw to you as a symbol of my affection.
I'm writing this from the Emergency Hospital in St. Paul, where the nurse was kind enough to let me use her computer, for a small fee, of course. I said just tack it on my "aide de camp's" credit card along with everything else, and she just smiled back knowingly.
You see, I became quite ill this morning when administered my morning insulin shot. My owner didn't notice this, of course, because afterwards he promptly left for work. But something was not right with your's truly! Upon waking, Stephanie grew wise to my condition after finding me curled up next to my own dung, and unable to walk more than three steps without toppling over. Did your kitty hero get himself into a mess o' the Captain's private booze stash and go off on a jag? Or was there something "medical" at the root of my problem?
Well, first let me explain to you how diabetes mellitus works. My pancreas or kidneys or some silly organ in the vicinity of my ass doesn't produce insulin like it is supposed to do. Insulin is needed to keep one's blood sugar from rising too high such that they don't become like a proverbial spaz and go streaking in public or support Patty Wetterling's Senate bid.
But the opposite happened this morning. I was given too much insulin! That's bad too! My normally off the chart blood sugar level fell into negative territory, much like Ted Kennedy's presidential aspirations after driving that one girl off a bridge or being caught doinking some other hussy on his boat outside Hyannisport. But enough about politics... I was majorly fucked up! I kept on falling over and couldn't make it to the food bowl or the litter box.
My owner, upon returning from work, wished to make like Russia and delay any sort of ruling on Iran's nuclear policy until at least mid march, but his strong willed (or coercive, if you like.. I decline an opinion) sweetheart thought it was best to bring me to the kitty emergency hospital, where a minimum visit/consultation costs $96. Thanks a ton Stephanie, you either saved my life, or killed CPA's personal income expectations for the month of January, or both. But I'm having a ball right now!
The vet was a very nice man who shared a last name with our president. He said I had an extreme case of hyperglycemia or that, more seriously, I might have a serious condition brought upon from stress related to having an owner with an oversized penis! The nice vet tech girl offered to check the second conjecture, but Stephanie was all about business.
So they got me where I am now, doped up on a catheter/IV with a nice bowl of sugary sludge in front of my face and "Wedding Crashers" playing on the 52 inch TV. Not bad at all! They say I get to stay here until at least three in the morning, at which time Stephanie will play prime party pooper and take me home.
The vet offered a bill which ranged between $800 and $1200, depending on how big of a sucker your owner is. Apparently if you're already there they figure you're a pretty big jerk-off to begin with! CPA sniffed a trap and made known his intention to take me home immediately, but again Stephanie came to my rescue! She said no, the cat is staying until he gets a clean bill of health. Haha, the joke is on all of them because that will never happen!
I'm still partying it up on University Ave right now as we speak, and that bill is much like the meter in a taxi cab, except that it goes up in $50 increments rather than mere change. Thanks Stephanie, you're the greatest! When I get out, I'm giving this nice pink bandaid wrapped around my paw to you as a symbol of my affection.
posted by Now with 110% less odor control at 7:08 PM
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