With a scheduled 10 o’clock appointment and a gas gage on “empty”, I decided to fill up with gas prior to the journey to the vet so as to avoid the trauma that could result for Buster if we had to make a stop. I drove to Lakefield’s last remaining gas station and taped across the pump was a sign telling me that there was no supreme gasoline (something my MINI can’t live without). I hate these dilemmas, but decided I’d put $5 worth in the tank, collect Buster from the house, and stop in Bridgenorth en route to the vet’s to fill up with Supreme. Sounds easy right? Not on your life. You see, I couldn’t for the life of me get the cover open to access the gas cap! I tugged and I pulled. I poked it with my key, I twisted both it and my body in different directions. I told it to fuck off. I rolled my eyes. But nothing worked. Frustrated, I drove home to reschedule the appointment, and see what I could do about fixing the problem and hoping that I wouldn’t run out of gas in the meantime.
Still mumbling expletives to myself, I pulled into the garage, go out of the vehicle, and tried the gas cap cover one more time. Of course it opened with absolutely no effort whatsoever! Inside I go, wake Buster up from his nap on the bed, lead him into his carrier upon which he start wailing right away, and I put him in the back of the MINI. So we head to the ESSO station together, me grumbling, Buster wailing, and I get my $5 worth of gas and head to Bridgenorth. It’s not a long journey from Lakefield to Bridgenorth, but any journey will seem twice as long with a cat in the back seat screaming his lungs out. I was looking forward to getting out of the car to put gas in the tank when I pulled into the Irving station only to see signs on their pumps that they had no gas at all! FUCK! On to Ultramar I go wondering if I’d missed some overnight gasoline sucking alien invasion, but luckily, gasoline was to be found, and I could still make it to the vet's on time.
So howling Buster and I once again are on the road and I’m thinking ”God don’t let him pee or poo” and then Buster lets out this cry that was more like a bark from a dog, and I smell it... Buster has taken a shit in his carrier, and he’s not a happy boy. The cries persist and then I smell something different... Buster has had a pee to accompany his poo, and it’s then that I realize that I’d rather have my eye teeth drilled without a Novocain injection that ever take a cat to the vet.
We are fortunate to have the absolute best vet in the entire universe. She listened to my rant about the trip, took the carrier from my hands and directed me to the exam room with instructions to turn the lights off, sit down and “breathe”. I didn’t need the full treatment, just the opportunity to be "Buster free" for a moment, and the vet and her staff got Buster and his carrier cleaned up and his exam went off without a hitch.
Buster hated the ride home as much as he did the journey into town, wailing the entire way in the back while I prayed to every God known to mankind to spare me another bladder or bowel accident from him. We pulled into the garage, and I released killer cat from his prison, and me bitched and complained his way down the hall to his food bowl where he wolfed himself down a good sized breakfast, and then carried his traumatized ass onto the bed where he fell asleep with his head tucked into his paws.
I’m so glad he doesn’t need another appointment, and if he ever does have to return to the vet, I’m busy that day. Sorry buddy! This taxi is out of service.