Tuesday, August 1, 2006

Wisdom tooth extraction and the tale of three kittens

I woke up this morning, August 1 of 2006 and had my coffee and a cup of apple sauce - the breakfast of late risers. I headed off to my dental appointment on Broadway to get my last two wisdom teeth removed. These teeth had not yet come out and were cowering away within my jaw, fearing the dentists drill. I decided I should get them removed before school and before my mom's dental coverage expired, plus they were starting to hurt a bit.

In I went, walking up the winding stairs to check in with the smiling receptionist who directed me to the waiting room. No more than five minutes elapsed before a portly nurse invited me into the back room and directed me to sit in the comfortable, yet intimidating chair. Fast Times at Ridgemont High was playing on the tv as they discussed the risks of extraction. The time came for me to assume the position... reclined and open mouthed. Dr. Britton wasted no time in slathering some anasthetic on my gums and before I knew it he had poked me 7 times with his mouth and head numbing needle.

After a brief intermission to let the drugs work he came back and sliced open my bottom gum and cut my tooth out. Stitching 6 knots into my jaw he moved on to the top tooth. Man, did he use a lot of pressure to knock that bastard out, had he sneezed or blinked or whatever, he could have slipped and that chisel would have been balls deep in my brainstem. Luckily, I'm okay... I know you were probably holding your breath.

Anyways, a few more stitches and a prescription for hydromorphone and penicillin later, I was on my way back down the stairs to my car.

As I strolled down twelfth street a tiny black kitten ran up to me and rubbed his filthy little head on my jeans. I bent down to slap it away but it only licked my hand, making me feel all soft inside and sad that it was out on the mean streets of Broadway alone. I then noticed another orange kitten walking out in th emiddle of the street. A British chap asked me if I knew who's cats they were. "Nope" I replied, "do you?" I already knew the answer... he had no idea. We looked around and discovered another black kitten hiding under a car but there was no sign of a responsible cat to care for her brood.

I decided to take them to take them to the SPCA where they would be put down or adopted, or whatever. "Help me load these guys up, eh?" I asked of the British man. He picked up one of the black cats and headed towards his car to find a cardboard box. I crawled under the truck to find the shy cat while the orange one was busy chasing ants. I picked them both up and walked back to my car. Throwing them in the box and into my back seat, I hopped in the front and took off towards the pound. The orange kitten was having none of it though and climbed out of the box and onto my shoulders, licking my face and purring loudly. I stopped at the Extra Foods on Clarence to pick up a bigger box, one with a lid so that I wouldn't step on the little orange bastard.

After that stop I made haste to the SPCA where I dropped off the three kittens to await their fate. Hopefully they all make it and find good homes. If you're looking for a cat, go ask for those ones... they were wicked cute. And to whoever dropped those kittens off there, or whoever is responsible for them... I hope you get cancer.

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