Oh What a Bed, Oh What a House

Good news/bad news on The Tuppers front. The vet had thought she had Cushings disease, meaning she was going to die and likely eat herself into an early grave. A couple of blood tests and a few pounds later and they changed their tune. It was just a bad tooth that was bothering her. We thought she had a neurological problem that caused her to drool water all over the kitchen, I guess it was "just" a painful chomper.

The bad news was that I (Troy) had to take her to the vet. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind taxiing her about town. I just didn't want to know what her surgery (yes, surgery) was going to cost. A lot. An awful lot. Too damn much really. OK, not really. If it had been too much she'd still have the tooth. It was close though. They showed me the estimate and I was fool enough to look. Closely. $40 for miscellaneous. What's that? Antibiotics they said. A drop in the bucket I thought. The total was $485.

Yes, FOUR HUNDRED EIGHTY-FIVE dollars. You probably think I was outraged, but I was not. No, I was incredulous. Maybe my best emotion. It gives me the chance to be border-line incensed and acts as a vehicle for accusatorial steam-letting humor. No mild indignation here. I let the poor gal at the desk have it, "$485 dollars?" I nearly shouted, "She didn't cost that much!" Then I turned to the dog and told her we may not be able to do it. Turning back to the bill I quizzed them on the afore-mentioned miscellany. In an attempt to calm me the technician asked if I'd like them to trim the nails while The Tupps was out. "No," I huffed fully implying I wasn't paying an extra dime. She told me it was complimentary, to which I responded "OK, then. Do it twice." I was so proud.

Extraction complete and back at home, The Tupps rediscovered her whine. We're well used to it, it means she wants food. Or at least it used to. Now, well God knows what it means. Gotta pee? Hungry? In pain? She gets post-op drugs, don't cha know. It also means we don't get to sleep. Back when she just had Cushings she'd whine and we'd feed her every couple of hours 'til bedtime. Now, or at least last night, she whines and whines and whines (much like me). All. Night. Long. Sleep schmeep.

If that weren't bad enough, Jack is still coming into our bed every night. Which is fine except he has the habit of pinching Kim right in the throat. He doesn't seem to be able to sleep unless he does it. Kim is a well-documented trooper, but sometimes it gets to be too much. After about three nights of little sleep (which happens about every two weeks) she cracks and gets a bit cross in the wee hours. Last night The Tuppers exasperated the problem with with her whining and a bonus noise from her newly-trimmed, and complimentary, nails click-click-clicking as she paced around on the tile floors. Jack, however, put things over the top by peeing on her. Nice. Well, she left us. Just down the hall, but a gal's gotta get some sleep. Even if it's just a little bit.

I had a hard time with the whining, but didn't noticed the pee. My breaking point seems to be when Jack puts his feet on my head. Deep down I see this as some sort of horrible affront. I can't explain it, I'm nearly asleep. But right in my own bed! Really it pisses me off. I can take being pushed nearly off the bed, the occasional throat-pinch and the random kick in the back. But when his feet are on my head the salty language comes out. Somewhere around 5 a.m. I may have taught him a few colorful words.

So we're all off to bed early tonight. Wish us luck.