Pets

‘Pay for the Cat’s Teeth You Cheap Bastard,’ I Yelled

$2800 is not too much to pay to be ignored by the best

“Animals don’t have a voice, so I think it is our job to give them one.” — Nikki Reed

Double Trouble

My spouse and I take our cats to the veterinarian together. Dark, my male Sable Ragdoll, and Tall, a tall male Munchkin, are in one pet carrier. We are in the room together when the vet examines the cats.

Dark has an immunological disease that breaks his skin out into pustules. After a ridiculous number of tests, followed by a similar number of diagnoses, the third veterinarian figured out what he had when he was two years old. The disease requires Dark to receive expensive medicine daily for the rest of his life.

Since Dark is a prodigy pill hider, we get the medication compounded into a chicken-flavored solution. I shoot the liquid into his mouth with a needleless syringe nightly. I know when the bills hit our checking account because my sweet husband will come and sit on the bed next to where Dark and I are lounging.

He will grab my hand, hold it, look deep into my eyes, and speak, “That damn cat is going to break us. You paid the mortgage and the vet bill. The vet bill was as much as the mortgage.”

I respond by looking right back deeply into his eyes, “Yes, I always pay the mortgage and the cat’s bills. We will always have a place to live, and so will our cats.”

He shakes his head and reminds me we are retired with a fixed income. We are beyond the days of two white-collar salaries.

I reply, “Who needs to eat anyway? We don’t look like we are missing any meals. Let’s try a fasting diet?”

The honey shakes his head, stands up, and walks away from me at this point. I return to petting Dark, whispering to him. “You’ll take care of me when I’m old, won’t you?” Dark looks up and meows softly, lays his head back down, and continues his loud purring.

The Perfect Cat

In contrast, Tall has needed nothing, ever. He is perfect. Tall’s most significant issue is that his nails grow long and sharp quickly. We cut them at home. The Doctor takes Tall out of the carrier and starts his exam. When he opens the cat’s mouth, he frowns. At the end of the exam, the Doctor recommends a dental specialist for Tall. His back teeth on both sides are not right. The vet launches into an explanation of the condition.

Now, I know what I should be concerned about: the cat and my budget. Nope. I’m contemplating how I can use this to get this man off my back about the cost of my cat! I’m trying to keep my face in a straight neutral position, but the corners of my lips keep turning up. Our vet will take X-rays and send them to the specialist along with pictures. The specialist is an hour from our house. Yes, baby, a pet road trip.

I ask why the cat has not been showing any strange behaviors. Is the condition painful? Tall has been his usual chill self. Tall sings a particular cat rap song every night, but he has performed every night since he was a kitten. The Doctor shakes his shoulders at me and turns away to face the owner.

The Doctor is waiting for my husband to authorize the X-rays, blood tests, and specialists. I wish I had some popcorn. This is good. A bead of sweat trickles down my husband’s jawline. He glances at me, sitting innocently on the edge of my chair, ready to leap if he says the wrong thing. He allows the direction the Doctor wants to take. I sit back.

A $3200 Hit to A Fixed Budget

When the results come back, they are bombshells. Besides the money spent so far, many of Tall’s back teeth need to be extracted. The cost will be $2800. I look at my shoes, and then I look at my husband. He froze.

He said he now understands the genius of cat cafes. Japan has businesses called cat cafes. Customers pay to play with the cats of the house for an hour. The customers are effectively engaging cats of the night for their services. When customers are finished, they get dressed, smoke a cigarette and leave.

My husband believes he could book a trip to Tokyo, spend three days and two nights petting working cats around town. When he returned from Japan, he would still have five hundred dollars, Tall’s original purchase price. He could put the money in a tiny backpack on Tall as a bribe for Tall’s original owner to take him back and still be money ahead.

His cat will consume $3200 in one month. A transfer from the precious retirement account will be needed. I see my husband thinking if she wasn’t here, I could drop Tall off at an animal shelter one county over, and she would be none the wiser. Yeah, folks drop off pets they found on the side of the road all the time.

When we get back to the house, my husband heads straight to the computer. I know what this is. When faced with an unexpected expense, my approach is ‘we saved money for our retirement, let’s spend it. If we run out, both our children are doing well in big houses. We can go live with them.’

My spouse’s first response is to determine if we can cut any more expenses even though we cut costs so I could retire early. There are no leftover expenses to be optimized. He figures this out again in about thirty minutes. He comes out of the room and says, “Tall’s teeth do not seem to bother him.”

I say nothing, giving him the wife look that screams, “Please, stop talking now before it is too late.”

Can We Make A Deal?

He walks over to hug me. His voice is pure butter, “You know, that bracelet you were looking at would look so good on your arm. We could get that and wait to see if Tall’s teeth actually hurt.” The bracelet costs $500. I liked that bracelet, but what will I do with a $500 bracelet — show it to the cats — one of whom has hurting teeth? Nope, no deal.

“Pay for the cat’s teeth, you cheap bastard”, I yelled — in my mind. Hey, I’m not trying to scare him, yet. But I will if I need to.

Then he responds to my no bracelet with, “You haven’t seen your friend in Memphis in two years; we could make a run up there this weekend.”

I lean back in his arms, and I retort, “Look, I will not bend. Make the appointment for the cat.”

My six-foot-tall, two-hundred-and-seventy-pound spouse stomps his feet; he is having a tantrum. A damn tantrum. He utters, “This is some BS. Why does it cost more to pull the cat’s teeth than mine or yours? I’ll call tomorrow,” he whispers, kissing my ear, using a well-chosen delaying tactic. I nod, “Ok.”

I don’t tell him I already made the appointment for the cat. Tall twines around our feet as I kiss my sweetie. The husband is always the last to know.

Toni Crowe retired as the Vice President of Operations to pursue her dream of being a writer. Toni has written six books, two of which won the 2019 Reader’s Choice Gold Awards. Her bestselling business book, “Bullets and Bosses Don’t Have Friends: How Do You Manage A Man Sitting With His Dick in His Hand?” was one of the winners. Her first book, “Never a $7 Whore” was the other.

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