Well, Folks.
This is it. The week I do Carnegie Hall. I wish I was more excited than full of dread and anxiety but I guess that will never change. If it does, it will be because I’ve chosen to quit comedy. I’ll let you know how it goes.
I am touring a bit in the spring. I’ve moved some dates up. So if you live in Nashville, TN, Chicago, Tallahassee, FL, Durham, NC, Charlotte, NC, Ridgefield, CT, Portsmouth, NH, New Haven, CT, Troy, NY or Burlington, VT, you should check the tour schedule at wtfpod.com. Might have a gig coming in Montreal as well. Will let you know. Might be the last tour for a while, so come see me if you can.
I know you are all hanging in suspense as to how I handled the Buster’s balls situation. Well, it’s done. They’re gone. The night I decided to do it my other cat, LaFonda, started acting sick. She wasn’t eating and was just generally lethargic. The next day I took them both in. I went back to get Buster who seemed pretty chipper for a eunuch but LaFonda had to stay for tests and rehydration. The vet said she had lost a few pounds in the last couple of years. I gave him the okay to do whatever tests necessary. A thousand bucks later there were apparently more tests that could be done.
I want to trust vets. I think my vet is okay. He’s odd. He’s a bit erratic but for some dumb reason I’ve been going there for over a decade even though he basically tried to fleece me. We put up with it but it pissed me off this time. My cats are oldish. LaFonda is 12. He showed me the x-rays and said she had a bronchial infection but it looked like she could have congestive heart failure. He then showed me another ‘normal’ x-ray for me to compare. I couldn’t tell. In order to diagnose congestive heart failure he had to do and echocardiogram. Then we discussed the reality that my cats (not Buster) are too freaked out to really administer medication to. So, if they have a chronic condition it would just be a waiting game until I have to put them down. But I need to know the results of the echocardiogram in order for him to properly medicate the bronchial infection without hurting her.
I went back the next day; he said I should take her home. He said he would get the results for the echocardiogram on Monday. It was Saturday. He said for a couple hundred bucks he could get the results in a couple of hours. I said what difference would it make. They were closing and he couldn’t treat her with more steroids until Monday and he had medicated her as much as he could without knowing what the results were. I said no.
Two hours later he called to tell me he got the results and she didn’t have the heart condition. That last $200 felt like a cash grab and made me doubt it all. I was pissed at him. Meanwhile, she’s still ill. Then Monkey got sick the next day and I had to bring him in. The vet said his liver was too big and it might be cancer but we would have to biopsy to be sure. His vitals were fine and aside from a big liver his insides looked good. I took him home. I’m not going put him through that.
It’s not even the money. It’s the fact that vets DO take advantage of sad people with sick animals. I had all 3 cats there this weekend. Buster is fine. The other two are not great and they went through all the stress of going there. LaFonda pissed in the crate on the way home and it was so sad seeing her slide around in her own pee. We were five minutes from home. I got her home and she scrambled down the hall leaving a trail of urine like a little frenetic feline mop head. So sad. Monkey stayed over night and he shit in the box at the vet. Now they are both home and under the bed and I don’t know what’s going to happen. Stressful.
Scary, sad Halloween.
That’s the awful thing about being a pet parent. When and if your kid makes it into double digits they are close to starting their own lives. With pets, they are ending theirs.
Today on the show the mastermind and wizard behind Pink Floyd, Roger Waters, talks to me in the garage. On Thursday the man who fronts the band ‘Endless Boogie’ and also set the standard for a specific type of vinyl record nerdism, Paul Major, talks to me with his band mate Jesper Eklow.
Enjoy!
Boomer lives!
Love,
Maron