as we may blog

We woke up early Saturday morning to the sound of Cheeks ruining two rugs. This is not an uncommon wakeup call, but she hadn’t been well the previous two days and some sluggish behavior after the barfing convinced us that she needed to see a vet fast. A few phone calls told us that there was no way we could get her in anywhere except the walk-in emergency clinic a couple miles away.

Let me stop for a moment to emphasize something I firmly believe about living in New York City: here, the hard things are easy and the easy things are hard. Making six figures in financial services? Sushi delivery at 2 am? Finding an epic mount? In New York City, these tasks are easy. Getting your sick cat to a vet? Insanely difficult.

Granted, this wouldn’t be so difficult if I had a pet carrier and a car. Details. Instead, I had to wrap Cheeks in a towel, stuff her bewildered hide into a LHRT farmer’s market bag, and call United Car Service. They got my location and destination and hung up on me. Undaunted, I called back (this is what you do). 4 minutes, they said. Sure enough, a car was honking impatiently outside our window two minutes later. A few minutes and $10 later we walked into the emergency clinic which was, thankfully, very quiet. I guess even sick pets like to sleep in on Saturdays.

They determined that Cheeks’ case didn’t need escalation and we took a seat in the waiting room. I had to stuff her head back down in the bag to keep her from freaking out from the other sounds, but her unwillingness to lay her claws into me and make a break for it told me all I needed to know about her health. (For anyone who doesn’t know Cheeks, she is a barn cat. She has claws and uses them expertly and often.)

There’s nothing quite like the comparison shopping that occurs in a pet ER to either confirm or assuage your worst fears about your pet’s health. Cheeks and I were the only ones in the waiting room at first, but after a few minutes another patient stumbled into the ER. A pug with a suspected case of vertigo. You haven’t seen pathetic until you’ve seen an overweight pug with vertigo. This poor bastard staggered around like a 19-year-old after a night at the Column. They decided to admit the pug before Cheeks, a prize we were both happy to concede.

The rest of the visit was routine. We received an estimate for $1400 worth of observation and blood work, which I politely declined in favor of the antibiotics and wait-and-see approach. Cheeks was a little more frisky after the visit for understandable reasons. I was able to manhandle her enough to stuff her back in the canvas bag, pay our bill, and ask the receptionist for the number of a car service. To the best of my memory, this is how it went:

• Unknown car service: 45 minute wait. We all laughed.
• Friendly woman next to me at the counter: “Did you try [unintelligible]? Me: Uh, no, I don’t have their number, do you have it? Friendly woman: *turns around and does something else*.
• I call United again. They say something like “5 minutes” and hang up on me again.
• 10 minutes later, I call United back. They put me on hold. Then I hang up on them!
• I go outside to the street corner, Cheeks in tow, looking to flag something down. No luck.
• I call Maggie, who was back at home not feeling well herself. She gave me the number of a car service in the neighborhood. I called them, asked for a car, and was told “this isn’t Lucky Car Service.” Ah, OK.
• I call Maggie back. She gives me another number, which I try. By now, I’m feeling the burn in my right arm, which is both holding Cheeks and also pressing her hard enough against my chest so she doesn’t jump out of her towel-bag and into traffic. New Bell Car Service, bless their souls, they were at least direct: “no we won’t go there.” Ah, OK.
• I start walking toward Atlantic Ave., knowing that a street that busy must have cabs. By this point, Cheeks is clawing at my chest trying to get out–bass from car stereos, horns honking, men whistling at women, enough noise to thoroughly disturb a person, not to mention a sick barn cat.
• After ten minutes on the world’s busiest street doing nothing but waving my arm at anything that looked like it could pick me up, I finally flag down some dude in a black Lincoln who takes us the rest of the way home for $8.

The hard things are easy and the easy things are hard.

Cheeks is slowly recovering. We shared some fun moments with a syringe and I’ve taken up feline cuisine: egg yolk in everything and when in doubt, add more egg yolk.

Back in the saddle after several days away.

This entry was posted on Monday, May 14th, 2007 at 8:16 pm and is filed under NYC. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.