PUTTING DOWN NICOLE

  A couple of days ago my GOD LOVES FAGS and GOD LOVES DYKES billboards returned to retake their places along Old Glen Wild Rd., just in time for the Memorial Day Hassidic migration. They're a little bulky, so yesterday i rang up Pigpen to see if he could give me a hand at the end of the day. He and PETAJohn showed up, along with PP's dog Darby. When I say this mutt is brain dead is to do him a favor. Don't get me wrong, he's pleasant enough, but.......he barks every time he sees me and takes after my cats with "intent". "Oh, he's just playing." Pigpen assures me. No he's not. He's serious. Ray streaks behind the wood pile. Spooky heads for the church and Ballzy runs up a pine tree. When all the excitement dies down and Darby gets exiled to the pick up, Nicole climbs on the table and sneezes blood into Pigpen's "Glen Wild Ice Tea". "Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww......" We're all disgusted.
"You have to put that cat down.....she's suffering." PETAJOHN insists with an expert tone.
 "Nicole is always blowing snot and wheezing." I insist, not quite ready to put a bullet in her. But then I take a good look. She's a mess. She's skinny, filthy, and her nose is crusted red. Damn. They usually do me the courtesy of just disappearing. Paris Hitler vanished. Mr. Kitty hasn't been seen since winter. Monkey Balls- gone. Do I really have to deal with this?

A little cat history:
    Nicole showed up with Paris Hitler, after Monkey Balls, Cali and her kittens Itchy, Bitchy and Twitchy, about 10 years ago. Then came Ray Gilkey, Spooky Cat, Mr. Kitty and most recently- Ballzy. With Mr. Kitty now gone, it's a solid population of four felines. Perfect Cat Lady habitat.

   We drank, ordered pizza and discussed Nicole's fate. I couldn't believe PETAJohn's rush to euthanasia . Hope Rosie cow doesn't get the sniffles. My cats had never been to the vet. Should the first visit be to the gas chamber? I was conflicted. Yet, I had to admit, like her namesake Nicole Ritchie, "Nicole the cat" had morphed from a soft cuddly, chubby little thing, to a gaunt, thin haired beast with blood running out of her nostril and crusted shit on her back. Maybe it was time.
   Today i talked it over with her and it was decided. She was so weak she offered no resistance getting in the car. Of course I had no carrier. "Top down?" I suggested. Maybe not. Although that could solve the problem. A little meowing and before you knew it we were at the Animal Hospital. The place was cutesy pie as hell and all the TV's were on the Pet Care Channel. There were tornado and heavy hail warnings out, the sky was slate grey and I was learning how to brush my pet's teeth, instead of getting weather updates. Could this be my reward for taking the cat to Dr. Death?- we both die in a twister.
  The doc- assistant stuck a thermometer up her ass, weighed her and took her blood pressure as i held her as best I could. "The Dr. recommends an AIDS test." IFF! I don't have health insurance and Nicole has AIDS! The sky got darker. What good was paying for cat AIDS tests? (And they ain't cheap). I looked at Nicole's snotty, squinty eyed face and tried to say goodbye. "This is the right thing....right?" I asked, hoping for a little reassurance. The assist. nodded. Then the Doc came in, wiped Nicole's nose with a wet rag, tickled her belly and suggested a $50 shot. "It lasts for 14 days. If she's no better we can put her down then. Thanks for caring as much as you do." Nicole wheezed. I breathed a sigh of relief, the storm never hit, and the two of us drove home- top down.