The things I have seen...
I don't want to sound racist by saying that all slanty-eyed people look alike so it doesn't matter who said such and such, so I'll say I think it was a Chinaman who invented the curse: "May you live in interesting times." Someone must have cast that curse on me and the Mooks recently.
You'll remember that in my last blog I mentioned that Mook B was about to go to a clinic for a cut in his had. Well, yes and no. He went to the clinic a few hours after I wrote the entry, but came back 30 minutes later 'cause the place was closed. Problem was: his cut was no longer just a little cut that my beloved nurse had warned him to have tended to. No, now his cut was huge and red and his wrist had disappeared into his arm and his arm had lost its elbow and these strange red lines ran up from the cut on his hand to the middle of what can only be described as an over-stuffed, dark-red sausage; something a Brit might fry up and have for breakfast, maybe. A started to get sweaty and so he called the special phone number for medical information and was told by the counsellor there to get to an emergency ward ASAFP.
He gathered some things, plunked me in the kitchen and then did something I wasn't expecting. The Mooks don't make a big production when they go out—they don't say bye-bye or give me a hug or make kissy noises; they think by doing nothing when they leave, I am conned into thinking they're only going out to buy cigarettes and am therefore less traumatized and less likely to do something destructive. (Dipshits...destruction has nothing to do with time.) On this occasion, however, as A was leaving, he leaned down to me and said, in a strange voice, "I hope I see you very soon, Little Feller," and gave me a little kiss on the nose and a little skritch behind the ear.
Oh-oh.
That was the last I heard from him for three days and nights. I set to gnawing on my bone, then fell asleep. When I woke up I had the strange sensation that I needed to pee. It's strange because, normally, the Mooks have fed me and hustled me out the door before the need-sensation sets in. I paced about a little, wondering what I was in for now. Then I started to get worried. Was this serious? Was my Mook coming back at all?
Then there was noise at the door and my little bladdered quivered with anticipation. When the door opened, it wasn't Mook A, B, C or D! It was A's sister (whom we'll call Sis from now on) and her husband (whom we'll call Bro). Sis and Bro hustled about, gathered stuff, then toddled down the stairs with me behind them, now with a bladder screaming for a slash.
I got to pee. I got to shit. But then I was getting into a truck and we were driving off! What was this? A kidnaping or a rescue? I was a stress-case and Sis seemed to know it 'cause she held me on her lap in the front seat and cuddled me and whispered sweetnesses. The last time I had been in a car it had not gone well (barf everywhere) and this time there was the added stress of a missing Mook. I started drooling, Sis said, "Oh-oh!" but then we were stopping. We were at their house—I'd visited it for Mook A's birthday—and food was being served and I was part of a new family.
Well, this had certainly gotten interesting (in the Chinaman's sense). But then I heard from Sis that things were considerably more "interesting" for Mook A. He had been admitted to hospital, post-haste, was being administered massive amounts of last-defense antibiotics, was sleeping in a corridor of the emergency ward, and was in a kind of isolation (even there) because they didn't know if his germs were contagious or just busily eating his arm off. At least he was relatively alive.
And hey! I was in hog heaven! They treated me less like a house-guest and more like the boss. I pretty much got anything I wanted just by doing little dances: going out, a treat, a place on a couch and—without even trying—a place on their bed that night where I found out Bro snores like a sawmill and Sis grinds her teeth like a pitbull skinning a teacup terrier. (Are there any normal people in this fucking family!?)
We all settled in quite nicely. The next morning I had a little accident because Sis and Bro just were not fast enough in getting me out (and had to be taught a lesson, don't you know). I was starting to worry I would have to train them (as I had Frank and the Mooks)—a long and tedious process. But they were picking up the signals fairly quickly and I tried not to abuse the situation (ie: doing the piss dance just because I'm bored and want to go out).
News from the hospital was that A was not allowed to walk the halls without rubber gloves and a yellow gown which announced to everyone he was contagious; sorta like those lepers in Ben Hur calling out: "Unclean! Unclean!" The news was he had run out of cigarettes and was bumming and sharing smokes with the junkies in the emergency ward, who were in a similar situation (although their cuts were from an excess of needles). His iPod had died, he couldn't read in the dark of his cubicle and was quietly going mental.
But hey! I was eating two squares and had a perfectly nice couple waiting on me and fulfilling most of my desires. I liked to cuddle with Sis on the couch for TV and I liked to wander around Bro as he cooked (yes, that is faggie, but I'm not judging).
But there was that gnawing worry: when would I be back with the Mooks, in my place, with my smells and my various edibles (Kleenex in the unemptied garbage cans and food—like dill-pickle chip crumbs— in the unvacuumed carpet). Sis and Bro are a little too anal for my taste, nice as they are. A house is not a home unless there's something to eat under the sofa.
On the second morning, Sis had to go to work. Toward the end of the morning, Bro started to make lunch for the both of them. I wandered about, stretched a bit, and thought I might like to go for a walk. So I did my little show and Bro threw on his coat and took me out. It was gloriously sunny outside and I could have drifted about outside for hours. We were slowly returning to the house when we heard some kind of commotion. As we walked on it started to become clear the noise was coming from our street. When we turned the corner we saw that there were three fire-trucks in front of the apartment and the firemen were about to break down the door with these big axes. You know that cooking Bro was doing before my little dance to pee? Well, he had left oil on the stove as he dashed me outside, it had burned, set off the alarms and the security company (on getting no one at the apartment to answer the phone) had sent out the big guns.
Again: Is no one in this family normal? Clearly, early-onset Alzheimer's is running through them all. On one side you've got a guy who's dying 'cause he can't keep a friggin' cut on his hand clean, on the other one who burns the house down for fried onions. Needless to say, the atmosphere within this happy little family iced up a little when Sis found out what had happened and though she was still being nice to me, she did seem to take my little piss-dances a little less seriously.
Meanwhile, back with A, after four or six IVs of massive doses of antibiotics, he was being released from the hospital, but with orders to present himself twice a day to a local clinic to get more IVs. At that same clinic, they would also do the stuff my beloved home-nurse usually does and tend to the new wound on his hand. To give him a break, though, it was decided that I would stay with Bro and Sis for a third night. This made me a little sad 'cause I really do miss the other place where there are so many nooks and crannies where so many interesting things (paper clips, chocolate bar wrappings, socks) can be found and snacked upon.
But here's the other thing (and I may regret admitting this):
I was missing the Mooks. Both of them. I wanted to be with A and I wanted B back from France and I wanted their bickering and laughing and smoking (for a dog raised by a smoker—Frank—the smell is an addiction in itself). I also wanted the messy, routine-less life they seemed to lead where there are surprises almost every day—nurses and friends who don't mind being humped, one-legged ladies, prostate-less barbers and dogs on the street who love-me-love-me-not (ie: Ginger).
And 24 hours later, that's what I had. Back home. Both of them there. Excitement and noise and silliness and stupidity (Mook B got his iPhone pickpocketed during a short visit to Barcelona and A came out of the hospital, not realizing the world had iced over while he was there, and nearly broke his back tumbling down in front of the entrance for the ambulances).
Things are back to normal now. Some things have changed. Because A gets his treatments at the clinic now, I don't see my nurse anymore and this breaks my heart. Also, the Mooks bicker a little less, for now; the guilt of travel and the appreciation of loved ones after an illness plays a role in that. And I have two new good friends, Sis and Bro, and a refuge if I need it.
And Christmas is coming. God bless us everyone!
(And eat a bowl of dick if you don't get I'm being sarcastic.)
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