...like a Japanese horror film where you don't really understand what you're seeing but it still scares the bejeezus out of you...
Oh! My eyes! My eyes! I want to pull an Oedipus!
For better or worse, and because humans are imbeciles and think dogs understand nothing, Mook A allowed me into the bathroom for the so-called "appliance change" the other day. It doesn't take much coaxing to get me in there because there's always a chance for a bath (which, as you know, is like an erotic massage for me) or at least a few moments of utter warmth because, at this time of year, it's the only room in the house that is heated. I should have thought for longer then two seconds; I'd had a bath a week ago and only Mook B likes me in there. Mook A tends to be more private...now I know why. Or mostly know why. After it all let me just say this: I may not like him one calorie more but I respect him a little bit. How the hell he lives with what some mad scientist did to his body is beyond me.
You know those three-legged dogs you see wobbling about or the ones, even, who ride about on little carts because their back legs are useless? They're sort of like A: adorable in a hideous-baby kind of way but also in a thank-kee-rist-that-ain't-me kind of way.
The appliance change...
...deep breath...
I can't be completely clear or lucid about it because I was wincing, turning away or downright closing my eyes a lot of the time. It involved taking off some plastic thingamajig, soap, solvents, and those alcohol swabs (I know their smell too well from visits to vets' offices...a smell you never forget though you desperately want to). Then there was a little bit with lots of cleaning material and running water and (Oedipus! Oedipus!) some organ sticking out where organs are not supposed to stick out. Then there was the new plastic thingamabob and pastes, glues and a yard of some kind of tape. It was the longest 30 fucking minutes of my life.
The oddest thing was that through most of it I wasn't sure if A was brave or nuts. He was laughing! (It was only near the end that I realized he had an iPod strapped to his arm and was listening to comedy as he did this.) As you know, A has a very short fuse. He did bitch a little when he would drop something or misplace something he apparently needed rightnowrightnowrightnow! But mostly he hummed along. This struck me as bizarre because there have been other times when Mook B and I cringed in the living room as he did this procedure while A screamed with rage and cursed all the gods in the heavens and a groups of real people too (once he went on a real tear about the people who make the store-brand tissue the Mooks buy: "WHEN I PULL OUT A FUCKING KLEENEX (sic), I WANT ONE MOTHERFUCKING KLEENEX, GOD DAMN IT, NOT ENOUGH TO STOP UP A HOLE IN A FAILING MOTHERFUCKING DAM! MOTHER FUCK! PIG WHORE! CUNTFUCKSUCKDICK..." And on it went until Mook B and I seriously thought about moving.
But here's the thing: After the job is pretty much done, A cleans up the bathroom and is in a radiant mood. For instance, during my first (and—Oedipus! Oedipus!—last) visit to the bathroom with him, he bent down and looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Now you've seen it, what do you think?" I gave him a little lick on the nose, figuring he deserved at least that, and he broke into insane laughter. Indeed, B and I have learned that when the procedure (which happens every four or five days) is over, A is in a great mood and all is well with the world for a bit.
When we were done, I scampered out of the bathroom, looking up at A the whole time, wondering why I had never seen outward signs of this mentalness. That's when I realized I do see signs...the morning of the appliance change, before it is done, he is not a cheerful little camper, let me tell you.
Meanwhile, now, the rest of the time, he's in a lot of pain as he waits for this Thursday's operation. This does not make him particularly amusing, but B and I have decided to cut him a little slack on the whole psychopathic-mood-swing-business. I do hope that the Thursday operation does one of two things: solve the problem or kill him because this place will turn into a hell-hole if things don't start getting better for him.
Mook A himself thinks the operation will help. I find his innocence charming especially now that I've (more-or-less) seen what "modern medicine" has done to him already. Jayzus...let's just say we're not too far removed from leeches and trepanation.
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