Patience

When I was four, I witnessed something quite horrible, though at that time it seemed curious as well.

I know that in these YouTube days, horror mingled with curiosity are quite pedestrian, there's someone posting a horrifying video that you can't take your eyes off right this minute. But in those days, the mixture of horror and curiosity was something you can only experience first-hand.

Let me step back a bit and paint you a picture of that beautiful early summer, in my hometown in the Philippines. The temperature was mild and sunny almost every day. In a month, the sun will turn treacherous and burn your skin in a minute, but right then, it was just perfect. You could run around for days and not break out in a sweat.

Our dog, Patience--Pasensiya in Tagalog, was pregnant. Patience was a mutt, with creamy short hair. Her face and legs were often caked in mud, as if she just came from nosing around somewhere in the garden.

You know how all your pets in your childhood seemed larger than any animals later in your life? Patience was like that for me when I was four. When I hugged her, she filled my arms. Her head was the size of my head. When she licked me with her warm, wet tongue, it felt like the little washcloth they give you in Japanese restaurants to wipe your hands (although I like to wipe my face in it too because it is so refreshing).

When I sit back and think about it now, rationally, she must've been just an average dog, maybe even on the small side. Even in the few seconds of this rational thinking, my memories have been altered, split into two parallel universes; Patience's bigness/smallness now co-exist in my mind. It's a bit jarring, like fun house mirrors.

Patience was lean, as most dogs were in the Philippines, as she was fed only rice and scraps, whatever she can manage from under the table. My two cats these days are spoiled gluttons compared all the pets I had in my youth. Patience's leanness only emphasized the size of her pregnancy. When I touched the skin on her gravid stomach, it felt tight, hot.

It must be said that I didn't really understand that Patience was pregnant. I'm sure somebody explained it to me, but even then, so what? Even though my vocabulary was expanding by the minute, comprehension was limited to things my child's mind was occupied with. Some words only strike a hollow fear: 'Death,' 'Divorce,' 'Donnie Osmond,' they didn't hold any true meaning.

I remember up until the day Patience was to give birth, she was playful and exuberant. I don't know if this was the case with most pregnant dogs; Patience was the only pregnant animal that I had ever been in close contact with. That made her disappearance so odd.

I looked for her all around the house, looking under couches and behind shrubs. I found my brother's chewed up plastic truck--but no dog.

I went to my mother then, who was sewing something, maybe another pair of pajamas pants. My siblings and I wore them all day in those days. She helped me look.

Eventually we found Patience in the garage. She was hiding in a corner behind a old spare tire, lying on her side, panting. She looked at us disinterestedly, saving her energy.

My mother said, "Patience is about to have babies, it looks like."

I was excited, even though I didn't know what to expect. We stood looking on for a few minutes. But then suddenly, it started.

Swoosh! Out came a little fleshy thing, then another, and another. And swoosh! Two more! But the little things didn't look like a dog, or a puppy or anything like Patience. The little things looked like fleshy Vietnamese spring rolls. They were were small, pink and translucent; they didn't move.

After the last one came out, Patience stood up and smelled the little spring rolls and then, to my horror, ate them all up. She wolfed them down, each with a single bite.

I was stunned, but also totally mesmerized and confused. I asked my Mom if Patience took a shit and ate them, she's done that before. I backed away just in case Patience wanted to lick me.

Mom explained that Patience must've sensed something wrong with her pups.

I was skeptical, I thought maybe she was just hungry and just not very discerning. Shit, food, little fleshy spring rolls--it's all the same to her. It made me kinda grossed out.

Thinking back, if I hadn't been standing there, I would've missed it. I wouldn't have known that Patience given birth to stillborn pups. I probably would've thought that she just lost weight or something. I probably wouldn't have noticed even that.

But god, when I think about it now, I really, really wish that I could've YouTube'd that.


When I was about seven, Patience died. Then we ate her. Part of her will always be with me. But there was a part of her that was gone forever, the next day, after I took a dump.



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Other pet posts:

Morning Routine - A surprise greets me at lunch for my haste getting ready for work. Confessions of a Broken Cat - A feline emergency in 3 parts. Drama guaranteed.

Meeting The Family - It was an inauspicious beginning: Rusty knocks me down when I first meet my BF's family. Bite Your Tongue - Mythbusting. Do dogs bite their tongues? Find out.

Excerpts from a Diary

Found this on the "Interweb" (as Tracy Jordan from 30 Rock would say):

EXCERPTS FROM A DOG'S DIARY

DAY 180

8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
9:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
12:00 noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
1:00 pm - OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVORITE!
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
5:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
5:30 PM - OH BOY! MOM! MY FAVORITE!

DAY 181

8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
9:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
12:00 noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
1:00 pm - OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVORITE!
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
5:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
5:30 PM - OH BOY! MOM! MY FAVORITE!

DAY 182

8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
9:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
12:00 noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
1:00 pm - OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVORITE!
1:30 pm - ooooooo. bath. bummer.
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
5:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
5:30 PM - OH BOY! MOM! MY FAVORITE!

EXCERPTS FROM A CAT'S DIARY

DAY 752 - My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant.

DAY 761 - Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded, must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favourite chair...must try this on their bed.

DAY 765 - Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body, in attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was... Hmmm. Not working according to plan.

DAY 768 - I am finally aware of how sadistic they are. For no good reason I was chosen for the water torture. This time however it included a burning foamy chemical called "shampoo." What sick minds could invent such a liquid. My only consolation is the piece of thumb still stuck between my teeth.

DAY 771 - There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell the foul odour of the glass tubes they call "beer.." More importantly I overheard that my confinement was due to MY power of "allergies." Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.

DAY 774 - I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird on the other hand has got to be an informant, and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room his safety is assured. But I can wait, it is only a matter of time...

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Other pet posts:

Morning Routine - A surprise greets me at lunch for my haste getting ready for work. Confessions of a Broken Cat - A feline emergency in 3 parts. Drama guaranteed.

Meeting The Family - It was an inauspicious beginning: Rusty knocks me down when I first meet my BF's family. Bite Your Tongue - Mythbusting. Do dogs bite their tongues? Find out.

Bite Your Tongue

Rusty, my mother-in-law's golden retriever, came barreling down the hall, almost knocking me off my feet. He licked my face as I futilely tried to fend him off. He laid his big heavy paws on my chest as he stood on his hind legs, panting heavily into my face.

"Boy," I said to him, "you seriously need some mints. You're never gonna get a date this way. You're never gonna get a date with that bitch down the street, um-hmmmm, yeah that bitch Mrs. Anderson." I grabbed his furry face and shook it, "Yeah, you don't have a chance unless you get some mints."

As the dog's tongue hung out and his saliva dripped on me, I wondered: do dogs bite their tongues? Their tongues are constantly hanging out and it's not possible that they don't bite down on it once in a while, especially when they eat too fast. Rusty gobbles up his food as soon as it's poured out of the bag. He steals the rolls from the dinner table, the snacks from the living room, the edible panties from my mother-in-law's bedroom. The panties are size XXXL so it's quite a delight, I hear.

If dogs chewed gum do they would accidentally bite the insides of their mouths? If they did, would they have to avoid Indian food afterwards because it stings? Also Szechuan food and the salsa from that Mexican restaurant down the street. I often bite the insides of my mouth when I chew gum which is why I avoid it entirely. Stick to mints, I say.

In a MythBusters moment, I decided to grab Rusty's jaws and tried to jam them shut while his tongue was hanging out, to see if I could get Rusty to bite his tongue.

It didn't seem to have any effect--myth busted. Dogs do not bite their tongues.

I know what you're thinking.

No, I'm not 13 years old. I'm just evil.

Heh-heh.

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Meeting the Family - It was an inauspicious beginning: Rusty knocks me down when I first meet my BF's family.

Parking Tickets are Evil - Yes, evil! Something from the archives: a sample of cringe-worthy writing from the early days.

My Commitment

PREVIOUSLY: The Longest Ride. Ever. Even longer than the time when I had hemorrhoids and had to take the SATs.
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Limbo.

We were in limbo. The doctor took our cat, our Cordy for x-rays to see if the vomiting was a symptom of something worse. Brian and I were left in the examination room to dwell in our own thoughts.

What could be worse? Intestinal blockage? Feline leukemia? Kidney cancer? What if the doctor said that there was something lodged in her stomach and she needs surgery?

I loved Cordy.

I rescued her from the animal shelter when she was only three months old. She's been in my life for seven years, longer than most of my relationships, including the one I had with the wart on my foot. Surgery could mean a lot of money, do I want to spend thousands to save a cat's life? What would I spend to ease her pain?

I realized now that I never really understood what kind of commitment I had made when I adopted her. What is my commitment? I still didn't understand when the doctor came back in with the x-rays. I felt like I needed to understand right now. If I didn't, I will not be able to make a decision. I will not be able to make the right decision.

The doctor said, "I couldn't find anything that would indicate any serious problems. The x-rays didn't show any blockage. Her liver and other organs look about the normal size. I do see a lot of gas," she pointed to x-ray of her stomach area, "but nothing that concerns me. Blood test results were normal."

We were relieved. She was going to be okay.

The doctor said that Cordy will be given some medication. She wanted to keep Cordy overnight with an IV drip to keep her hydrated and see if Cordy will be able to keep food down. The receptionist came in with the estimate, it was going to be about $500, do we want to admit our cat?

$500 was not that much. This way we can be sure that Cordy will be safe. The surround sound system can wait a few months, it's ok.

So I won't be immersed another world when I pop in an HD DVD; I won't feel the low rumble, the high pitched tire squeals of a high speed car chase; I won't feel like I'm right in the middle of the action in My First Gay Bukkake #3, it's ok.

I gave the receptionist my credit card.

The next day, the vet's office called us and told us that Cordy is alert and keeping her food down. She was being released.

The drive home was more relaxed than the trip to the hospital. We joked around, chatting to Cordy in the back, laughing about how we can put the soy sauce back in the fridge.

At least now, I know the minimum level of my commitment to my pet: it's $500 plus tax and prescriptions. I looked at her fondly.

Cordy meowed, cheerily talkative. She seemed very upbeat.

I studied her prescription and wondered idly if it worked on humans too...




READ THIS: What I wouldn't do for my cat...

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Get caught up with the other posts in this series:

Part 1: Confessions of a Broken Cat Part 2: The Longest Ride

Part 3: My Commitment

The Longest Ride

PREVIOUSLY: Confessions of a Broken Cat. Cordy, my cat had been throwing up, not because of bad Chinese take-out, but of something possibly worse. Brian and I rushed her to the Animal Emergency Hospital...
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An acrid smell permeated through my reverie. The smell wafted in from the back seat, bringing me out of my thoughts.

Cat pee.

She's never peed in her carrying cage before. The pee smelled thick, sweaty, earthy, like the cologne of some swarthy lothario/plumber, you know, the kind that thinks you're into him because you're avoiding eye contact, not because your eyes are being irresistably drawn to his ass crack.

The smell added a layer a sense of urgency, of danger to the events. We've taken her to the vet before and she's never peed on the way. I wondered whether she'll survive the trip and how devastated I would be if the pee got into the upholstery.

I welcomed this feeling, it weighed down the air, underlining the gravity of the situation. Up until then I had been making light of the situation, thinking that like the X-man Wolverine, all animals had enormous mutant healing powers. They recovered much faster than humans and all without the aid of any kind of drugs like acetaminophen, penicillin, crystal meth.

Since we got in the car, Cordy had been crying in the back seat of the car almost constantly. Her silence coinciding with the smell worried me. Invisible hands squeezed my heart as I turned around to make sure she was still alive, still breathing in her cage.

In another minute, we were at the hospital. Twenty minutes, said my watch. I wondered if anybody who didn't live within a block of a hospital ever survived something worse than a possible food poisoning, like multiple stab wounds or accidental electrocution? I resolved to check my vibrator for frayed cords.

If this is how long it takes to get to a hospital, how can anything but grief meet you when you get there?

Brian barely turned off the engine when I jumped out of the car and opened the back door, gingerly pulling out the cage. My calves locked in for a sprint.

Inside, the cheery voice from the earlier phone call, now reunited with her brown hair and petite frame told us that the vet will be with us shortly; the vet was attending to another patient.

We settled down to wait on the sofa. Behind the sofa was a bulletin board filled with posters, pictures and greeting cards. Brian stood up to read them to distract himself. But a few seconds later, he stopped and sat back down. He had been reading one of the greeting cards.

"I don't want to read these," Brian said. "These are cards thanking the vet for doing her best to try to save their pets."

Just then, we heard a wail followed by sobbing. The door next to the waiting area opened and a woman, head hunched down, hurried toward the exit. A man with red-rimmed eyes followed a few steps behind, a red leash clutched in his hand.

I didn't want to be them, yet the possibility was there. We could be walking out without our pet. My mind argued with itself: this wasn't going to happen to us, but at the same time--prepare yourself.

Cheery girl took us to an examination room. The doctor, a tall confident woman in blue scrubs, hair in a tight ponytail, came in. I was relieved. She would take care of our Cordy. I was sort of afraid we would get somebody like Pauly Shore in a lab coat. What would I say then, "Uh, sorry, no offense, but could we have your version of Dr. Miranda Bailey?"

We told her of the symptoms, giving her painstaking details, yet second-guessing ourselves trying to make sure we weren't exaggerating.

"She was vomiting constantly--well not constantly--but three times in the last two hours. Was it two hours? Could've been three. No blood though, or at least none that we saw. That's good right, doctor? We don't think she's eaten in two days, but can't tell for sure, we have another cat who is a pig..."

The doctor listened patiently while she examined our cat. She said, "Cordy doesn't seem to be in immediate danger, but this could be the symptom of something else." She paused here, looking steadily at us, giving it time to sink in. "I need x-rays to know for sure."

Something else. What else could there be? This was just vomiting--bulimia--we joked earlier.

She took our Cordy away, leaving us alone in the room.

NEXT: My Commitment

Confessions of a Broken Cat

Cordy cried during the whole trip.

She was in the back seat of the car, in our kitty carry-all. We were driving her to the Animal Emergency Room. If you've never heard a cat cry, it sounds eerily human, like sobbing, but without the overdramatic gasping they do in telenovelas.

The drive to the Animal Emergency Room was only about 20 minutes, but it seemed like hours. Brian drove steadily, while I sat silently trying to calm myself down, trying to ignore the cat's mewling. My mind raced ahead, envisioning various scenarios, each getting more horrific as time passed by. I tried to distract myself by thinking of other things...


When I first moved to Chicago, I didn't know a soul.

"Get a cat," my mom said, "Cats are clean and it'll keep you company."

Actually, that's not what she said. She said, "Cats are clean and if you ever get trapped in one of those terrible Chicago snowstorms, you'll have dinner in a pinch. Just sauté with a little soy sauce and ginger," but I didn't want you to think she was a barbarian. She really isn't, despite the chainmail and battle axe.

But just in case I was snowed in, I followed mom's advice and got a cat. And some soy sauce.

Cordy, my calico, is a bit dim, I'm afraid. She's doesn't sit on a window ledge and contemplate the world outside, she prefers to sit on the couch and stare at the TV all day--while it's off. She's also quite vocal, but most of the time, you can't understand a thing she says. And when you do, it's always meow meow meow meow meow. Sometimes I wish she would just shut up. It's quite annoying really. Pick another topic already.

She likes to make her opinion of my taste in décor known by grabbing knick-knacks with her mouth from around the house and leaving it outside my bedroom door. She can also be quite belligerent, like a drunk Lindsay Lohan. Cordy's much like gay men that way: when we are threatened, our manicured claws come out, nail bling and all.

Cordy is a celebrity in her own mind. She parties all night and runs around like crazy and it's not unusual to find her passed out in the morning, a pile of vomit nearby.

Cordy vomits a lot. I think it's because she eats too fast, but sometimes, I think it's because she's bulimic. She'll scarf down her food and a few minutes later, you'll hear the gah-gah-gah, the beginnings of another purging session. Then, a chunky pile in the middle of the floor. I wondered why she couldn't throw up in the toilet like other bulimics. No mess to clean up.

She does have a teensy bit of a weight problem, and no matter how much she denies it, her hips don't lie. But you know what cats don't have to worry about? Cellulite. The fur covers up the ripples.

The last couple of days however, there were more piles of vomit than normal. I noticed because I stepped into a couple of them while I was getting ready for work. Let me tell ya, suede and vomit don't go together, unless vomit comes in mauve.

There would be three chunky piles in a row, in varying degrees of dryness. I thought, well, it is a stressful time for her, she had not been able to get anyone interested in her tell-all book, probably because it has been recently discovered that the tom she's been dating had been neutered. Even that bottom feeder Perez Hilton wouldn't give her the time of day, even after Cordy e-mailed him photoshopped pics of herself with coke smears on her snout.

Then last night, the vomit piles were just frothy, like a latte--no chunks. It worried me because as far I remembered, we didn't have a barista living in our home. She must not have eaten at all. Why is she still throwing up?

It's a cry for help. I thought, I did what anybody does when confronted with cries for help--I ignored her.

But within the hour, she threw up a couple more times, all frothy messes. Brian and I began to worry. We weren't heartless. We weren't going to wait for Cordy to make a music video like LiLo in "Confessions of a Broken Heart" before we took notice.

It was 10 p.m., the vet's office was closed. We called anyway, in case the vet was in the shithouse with his wife and had to sleep in his office. No answer, but the message gave the phone number of the local animal emergency hospital.

We called.

A cheery voice answered, much cheerier than I expected from an emergency room. Either they are really good vets or the receptionist had gone crazy from all the harrowing things she's witnessed. We assumed the former. I copied down the directions to the hospital and went to find the kitty carry-all.

I found Cordy lying on her side, her head down on the floor, as if she didn't have the strength to hold it up. I could no longer make light of this. Horrible images of what might happen at the emergency room went through my head.

What if what seemed like a small digestive problem turned out to be much worse? What if they had to open her up? What if they found something horrible inside? Tears threatened, burning embers in the back of my eyes. I couldn't help imagining scenes of doctors rushing, clipboards in hand, the theme song of E.R. playing in the background...


NEXT: The Longest Ride

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