![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apocalypsosAnd now, in honor of Katie Cassidy being an evil immoral douchebag for lying to the cops -- *ahem* -- I give you my "lying to a cop" story.
My mom's regular vet, the same one she's been taking cats to for the past thirty years now, is located in the middle of nowhere. Now, my hometown is in the middle of nowhere but this vet's office is even deeper in the sticks than that. It's a good thirty-to-forty minute drive into hills and farmland and there's not a real town for miles. And every once in a while I have to drive one of her cats there.
Every one of the cats has his quirks. Some of them love riding in the car. Some of them get sick as soon as you show them one. Jasper was the worst of the lot. He was perfectly behaved at home, perfectly behaved at the vet, and a complete fucking basket case in a car. Stuff came out of every opening that cat had -- puke, drool, shit, piss, and sometimes just for fun a little blood just to make it really interesting. He wasn't hurt, he was just really REALLY carsick. I mean, when my eternally-motion-sick ass is looking at you and going, "Jesus, you should probably mainline some Dramamine, sweets," you are really pushing the amount of bodily fluid you should realistically be able to eject from every orifice.
This was also coupled with the classic Siamese yowl. Jasper almost never meowed louder than a whisper in the house but get him in a car and he yelled. It sounded as if he were half-Siamese-cat and half-dying-operatic-bagpipes.
And when Jasper suffered, YOU suffered. Those car rides sucked on toast, which was why I tended to speed when he was in the car.
You can probably see what was coming. I'm taking him for shots, he starts yowling and puking, I speed up, I get pulled over.
So the cop comes up to the window and asks for my ID and stuff, and while I'm digging it out she peeks in the backseat. And there's Jasper, foaming at the mouth and yakking up puke, the stench of diarrhea and cat piss hanging in the air and that goddamn yowl sounding off continuously.
"Oh, my God, what's wrong with your cat?" she asked.
Now, I had two options --
1. Tell her that I was just taking him for a shot and he tended to get really scary-carsick.
2. Lie.
So I took a deep breath, looked her straight in the eye and said, "I don't know what's wrong with him, I found him like this when I got home from work, he's my mom's cat, homigod, I hope he doesn't die --"
She couldn't wave me off fast enough.
My mom's regular vet, the same one she's been taking cats to for the past thirty years now, is located in the middle of nowhere. Now, my hometown is in the middle of nowhere but this vet's office is even deeper in the sticks than that. It's a good thirty-to-forty minute drive into hills and farmland and there's not a real town for miles. And every once in a while I have to drive one of her cats there.
Every one of the cats has his quirks. Some of them love riding in the car. Some of them get sick as soon as you show them one. Jasper was the worst of the lot. He was perfectly behaved at home, perfectly behaved at the vet, and a complete fucking basket case in a car. Stuff came out of every opening that cat had -- puke, drool, shit, piss, and sometimes just for fun a little blood just to make it really interesting. He wasn't hurt, he was just really REALLY carsick. I mean, when my eternally-motion-sick ass is looking at you and going, "Jesus, you should probably mainline some Dramamine, sweets," you are really pushing the amount of bodily fluid you should realistically be able to eject from every orifice.
This was also coupled with the classic Siamese yowl. Jasper almost never meowed louder than a whisper in the house but get him in a car and he yelled. It sounded as if he were half-Siamese-cat and half-dying-operatic-bagpipes.
And when Jasper suffered, YOU suffered. Those car rides sucked on toast, which was why I tended to speed when he was in the car.
You can probably see what was coming. I'm taking him for shots, he starts yowling and puking, I speed up, I get pulled over.
So the cop comes up to the window and asks for my ID and stuff, and while I'm digging it out she peeks in the backseat. And there's Jasper, foaming at the mouth and yakking up puke, the stench of diarrhea and cat piss hanging in the air and that goddamn yowl sounding off continuously.
"Oh, my God, what's wrong with your cat?" she asked.
Now, I had two options --
1. Tell her that I was just taking him for a shot and he tended to get really scary-carsick.
2. Lie.
So I took a deep breath, looked her straight in the eye and said, "I don't know what's wrong with him, I found him like this when I got home from work, he's my mom's cat, homigod, I hope he doesn't die --"
She couldn't wave me off fast enough.
