I had an unexpectedly late night last night which involved veterinarians, El Jefe's little cat bum, and a lot of hissing. Though the hissing may or may not have come from me because the only movie playing at 4am in the waiting area was Paul Blart: Mall Cop, and I sincerely can't decide whose experience was more painful: El Jefe's tiny kitty catheter or that movie. Hiss.
The feline was acting strangely when I got home around midnight, so I surfed some major web and deduced that it was probably a urinary thing, and in a turn of events that no one who regularly WebMD's themselves and deduces that it's cancer everysingletime saw coming: I was totally right. BAM. Take that, cancer.
As it turns out, El Jefe was getting into the Christmas spirit a little early and was creating sparkly crystals inside his cat-ness which was creating a bit of a conundrum up in thurre. (See, Jody? See, Brady? SOME of us start the festivities earlier and that's clearly okay, unless, in this case, it involves protein blockages in your urethra. I prefer wassailing. But. You know, grain of salt, to each his own, etc.) So Kelsey thought it prudent to take him to the emergency vet, and I deduced that the three of us should drive down to Fountain Valley together, because NOBODY wants to make adult decisions that late at night by themselves. (Well, nobody except for misanthropes, who sort of thrive on that sort of thing.)
As exciting as all of that sounds (believe me; it was. Especially the part where I read the latest issue of Cat Fancy magazine. Thrilling.), the best part of the night came a bit earlier at Brady's house for the Project Runway finale. (And no, that part wasn't the best - come on, we all know the only thing this season was best at was major suckitude. Zing, PR. Zing, cancer. Zing, Paul Blart...?)
Anyway, the best part of the night came when Brady bestowed upon me the greatest culinary gift you could possibly bestow upon anyone, be they man or beast: A coveted pear from that month's Harry and David fruit of the month delivery. Sweet, heavenly goodness. I don't even have a particular fondness for pears, but I would have taken this juicy fruit to vegas and married the pear right out of it. And then I might have even cooked for it and bore its tiny fruitlet babies. Because there's fruit, and then there's fruit, and this fruit was totally bitchin'.