Karmic Tails

My friend Holly is the gal you go to if you need advice.  She is one of those people who conveniently knows something about everything.  If your brain can conjure it, she can help:  plastic surgeons, home décor, make-up, cars, recipes, gyms, worthy twitter followers, vacations spots, bunco, lingerie, shoes,  music to have sex to, child birth, child rearing, marriage counselors, divorce attorneys, hair styles that compliment your face, clothes that make your ass look small, French translations “J’aime les chat”, atomic mass of a neutron, etc. etc.

Holly is essentially an oracle with one teensy, weensy, itty, bitty personality quirk.  She is officially the LEAST sympathetic person on the planet.  You absolutely DO NOT, repeat DO NOT, go to Holly if you want to be coddled, held or comforted in any way because she does not give a shit.  I am quite certain her children were changing their own diapers, cleaning up their own vomit and mixing their own formula by 6 months of age.  So you can imagine my delight when Holly agreed to allow me to write about a very brief but eventful 72 hours of her life when heartfelt compassion was the sovereign power that dictated her every move.

In August of 2002, Holly was 9 months pregnant.  She was a week away from delivering her second son and for reasons she does not understand or cannot explain, she decided that this was the day she HAD to get rid of her cats.  (She informs me that pregnancy hormones can be extremely compelling and this was the worst of her deeds during this volatile time).  Holly loaded them up in their carriers, ignoring their confused little expressions as they were pulled from the warm little kitty-cat beds.  She then put them in the car and drove across town to the animal shelter.  (Oddly, Holly has no recollection of where her 2 year old son was on the particular day but assures me that he was “safe”).  Holly pauses and looks off into the distance momentarily and returns to her story.

When she arrived at the shelter, Holly was asked why she was “surrendering” her cats.  Not wanting to admit the obvious truth that cats are just gross animals and she was sick of listening to her husband bitch about them, she lied.  Holly broke down and started sobbing about how her 10 year old stepson was coming to live with them because his mother was a crack-addicted prostitute (of which her husband claims to have no recollection of) but the DNA samples he was forced to submit to the state proved otherwise.  Holly, being the understanding person that she is, agreed to let the boy come and live with them since his mother had just been arrested for soliciting the dads in the carpool lane at the elementary school.  Annnnnnnnnd to top it off, Holly had just learned that the poor kid suffered from pet allergies!  *Author’s Note: In reality, Holly is married to a relatively normal dentist named Paul who has fathered no other children that they are currently aware of.

So Holly wrote a check for $80 to update the cats’ shots and left.  However, as she opened her car door, Holly was accosted by a feeling that was entirely foreign and pervasive, a feeling that left her crippled in a state of hysteria, a feeling that she had managed to allude for her entire life until today.  This particular feeling had finally smoked out its long awaited victim and had wasted no time permeating her psyche in the parking lot.  Yes, that is right, Holly met GUILT.  Dun Dun Dunnnnnnnnnnnn……….  Following this mental assault that most of us encounter every single, solitary day of our lives, Holly was inconsolable.  She bawled the rest of the day, all night long and into the next morning until her desperate husband called to check on her and told her just to go get the fucking cats to shut her up.  *Despite having no previous encounters with guilt, Holly is not a serial killer.

Holly promptly called the animal shelter and was told that under no circumstances would they be releasing the cats back into her care.  Thinking quickly, Holly said there had been a giant misunderstanding and that while there was indeed a little boy with a crack-addicted, prostitute mother, the forensics lab had accidentally mixed up her husband’s DNA with some deadbeat dad’s and Paul wasn’t the sperm donor after all.  Holly then went on to say that thankfully the boy’s mother had been released from jail since her pimp had posted bail.  Upon hearing this, the shelter worker reluctantly agreed to allow Holly to have her cats back as long as she paid the $170 adoption fee.  Holly readily agreed to this stipulation and they all lived happily ever after.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. WRONG.

A couple days later, Holly noticed that one of her cat’s heads was swollen like a big, furry cantaloupe with snot smeared everywhere.  Holly’s keen intuition suggested that this was indicative of a problem so she loaded up the terrified, wheezing cat once again, only this time it was to go to the vet.  Holly was about halfway there when she heard sirens and realized she was being pulled over.  The police officer sauntered over and arrogantly asked if she knew why she was being pulled over.  Holly haughtily informed him that she did not have time for foolish guessing games as her cat was clearly dying in the backseat and required immediate medical assistance.  The police officer glanced at the ailing cat, whistled and nodded his head in agreement.  However, figuring the cat was a goner anyway, he proceeded take his sweet ass time explaining that Holly could fight the 4 point, $115 ticket she was receiving, for going 10 miles over the speed limit, regardless of the dire circumstance,  in court.

Eventually Holly made it to the vet’s office and since it was a Saturday, emergency hours and fees were applicable.  Obviously she could not tell the vet that she had mercilessly dumped her cats off at a shelter, so she was forced to lie once again.  Holly explained that her poor, precious kitty had somehow gotten out and made its way over to a bad part of town.  Fortunately, a crack-addicted prostitute had found him and thoughtfully put an ad in the paper in hopes of finding its owner.  After some extensive searching and many sleepless nights, Holly eventually located her beloved cat and gave the prostitute $100 to buy some more crack as her reward.  The vet just glared suspiciously at Holly and informed her that the cat had RSV, which was not deadly but would require medication and an IV and because it was highly contagious, medicine for the other cat as well.  $250 later, she was on her way home with her cherished cat in tow once again.

From that day forward, Holly declared that the cats and she would be together “until death do us part”. (Or until she gets knocked up again).  Unfortunately, the cats have never really gotten over the great injustice that had befallen them.   Just last summer, those silly kittens used her bed as their litter box for 10 whole days while Holly and her family were on vacation!  Accepting the fact that karma was still paying her back with interest, Holly calmly threw away all of her expensive European bedding and went to sleep on her son’s bunk bed.  *Due to the extensive damage that occurred, Holly was later forced to throw out her expensive temperapedic  mattress as well.  Subsequently, the lazy teenager that was supposedly coming by to feed the cats and change their litter box, was ripped a new asshole and fired.  Holly is currently awaiting her karmic trial for this one as well.

Thanks Holly! I Love You!