[Sca-cooks] Fw: Cats Do The Damnedest Things...]

[Jane/Bj Tremaine]

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--

This showed dup on another list I read.

Jana

> I don't know if this story has been around the block already, but I've
> never read it till today.
> That silly cat!
>
> enjoy,  keelin
>
> Larry Andrews wrote:
>
> > This is the story of the night my 10-year-old cat,
> > Rudy, got his head stuck in the garbage disposal. I
> > knew at the time that the experience would be funny if
> > the cat survived, so let me tell you right up front
> > that he's fine. Getting him out wasn't easy, though,
> > and the process included numerous home remedies, a
> > plumber, two cops, an emergency overnight veterinary
> > clinic, a case of mistaken identity, five hours of
> > panic, and 15 minutes of fame.
> > >
> > My husband Rich and I had just returned from a 5-day
> > vacation in the Cayman Islands -- where I had been
> > sick as a dog the whole time. We arrived home at 9
> > p.m., a day and a half later than we had planned
> > because of airline problems. I still had
> > illness-related vertigo, and because of the flight
> > delays had not been able to prepare for the class I
> > was supposed to teach at 8:40 the next morning. I sat
> > down at my desk to think about William Carlos
> > Williams, and around 10 o'clock I heard Rich hollering
> > from the kitchen.
> > >
> > I raced over to see what was wrong and spied Rich
> > frantically rooting around under the kitchen sink and
> > Rudy -- or, rather, Rudy's headless body -- scrambling
> > around in the sink, his claws clicking in panic on the
> > metal and his head stuck in the garbage disposal. Rich
> > had just ground up the skin of some smoked salmon in
> > the disposal, and when he left the room Rudy (who
> > always was a pinhead) had gone in after it. It is very
> > disturbing to see the headless body of your cat in the
> > sink. This is an animal that I have slept with nightly
> > for 10 years, who burrows under the covers and purrs
> > against my side, and who now looked like a fur-covered
> > turkey carcass, defrosting in the sink while it's
> > still alive and kicking.
> > >
> > It was also disturbing to see Rich, Mr.
> > Calm-in-any-Emergency, at his wit's end, trying to
> > simultaneously soothe Rudy and undo the garbage
> > disposal, and failing at both, and basically freaking
> > out. Adding to the chaos was Rudy's twin brother
> > Lowell, also upset, racing around in circles, jumping
> > onto the kitchen counter and alternately licking
> > Rudy's butt for comfort and biting it out of fear.
> > Clearly, I had to do something. First we tried to ease
> > Rudy out of the disposal by lubricating his head and
> > neck with Johnson's baby shampoo (kept on hand for my
> > nieces' visits) and butter-flavored Crisco. Both
> > failed, and a now-greasy Rudy kept struggling.
> > >
> > Rich then decided to take apart the garbage disposal,
> > which was a good idea, but he couldn't do it. Turns
> > out the thing is constructed like a metal onion: you
> > peel off one layer and another one appears, with
> > Rudy's head still buried deep inside, stuck in a hard
> > plastic collar. My job during this process was to sit
> > on the kitchen counter petting Rudy, trying to calm
> > him, with the room spinning (vertigo), Lowell howling
> > (he's part Siamese), and Rich clattering around under
> > the sink with his tools. When all our efforts failed,
> > we sought professional help. I called our regular
> > plumber, who actually called me back quickly, even at
> > 11 o'clock at night (thanks, Dave). He talked Rich
> > through further layers of disposal dismantling, but
> > still we couldn't reach Rudy. I called the 1-800
> > number for Insinkerator (no response), a pest removal
> > service that advertises 24-hour service (no response),
> > an all-night emergency veterinary clinic (who had no
> > experience in this matter), and finally, in
> > desperation, 9-1-1.
> > >
> > I could see that Rudy's normally pink paw pads were
> > turning blue. The fire department, I figured, gets
> > cats out of trees; maybe they could get one out of a
> > garbage disposal. The dispatcher had other ideas and
> > offered to send over two policemen. The cops arrived
> > close to midnight and turned out to be quite nice.
> > More importantly, they were also able to think
> > rationally, which we were not. They were, of course,
> > astonished by the situation. "I've never seen anything
> > like this," Officer Mike kept saying. (The unusual
> > circumstances helped us get quickly on a first-name
> > basis with our cops.) Officer Tom, who expressed
> > immediate sympathy for our plight ("I've had cats all
> > my life," he said), also had an idea. Evidently we
> > needed a certain tool, a tiny, circular rotating saw,
> > that could cut through the heavy plastic flange
> > encircling Rudy's neck without hurting Rudy. Officer
> > Tom happened to own one. "I live just five minutes
> > from here," he said. "I'll go get it."
> > >
> > He soon returned, and the three of them -- Rich and
> > the two policemen -- got under the sink together to
> > cut through the garbage disposal. I sat on the
> > counter, holding Rudy and trying not to succumb to the
> > surreal-ness of the scene, with the weird
> > middle-of-the-night lighting, the room's occasional
> > spinning, Lowell's spooky sound effects, an apparently
> > headless cat in my sink and six disembodied legs
> > poking out from under it. One good thing came of this:
> > the guys did manage to get the bottom off the
> > disposal, so we could now see Rudy's face and knew he
> > could breathe. But they couldn't cut the flange
> > without risking the cat. Stumped.
> > >
> > Officer Tom had another idea. "You know," he said, "I
> > think the reason we can't get him out is the angle of
> > his head and body. (You can see where this is going,
> > can't you?) "If we could just get the sink out," he
> > >continued, "and lay it on its side, I'll bet we could
> > slip him out." That sounded like a good idea -- at
> > this point, ANYTHING would have sounded like a good
> > idea -- and as it turned out, Officer Mike runs a
> > plumbing business on weekends; he knew how to take out
> > the sink!
> > >
> > Again they went to work, the three pairs of legs
> > sticking out from under the sink, surrounded by an
> > ever-increasing pile of tools and sink parts. They cut
> > the electrical supply, capped off the plumbing lines,
> > unfastened the metal clamps, unscrewed all the pipes,
> > and about an hour later, viola! The sink was lifted
> > gently out of the countertop, with one guy holding the
> > garbage disposal which contained Rudy's head) up close
> > to the sink (which contained Rudy's body).
> > >
> > We laid the sink on its side, but even at this more
> > favorable angle, Rudy stayed stuck. Officer Tom's
> > radio beeped, calling him away on some kind of real
> > police business. As he was leaving, though, he had
> > another good idea. "You know," he said, "I don't think
> > we can get him out while he's struggling so much. We
> > need to get the cat sedated. If he were limp, we could
> > slide him out." And off he went, regretfully, a cat
> > lover still worried about Rudy.
> > >
> > The remaining three of us decided that getting Rudy
> > sedated was a good idea, but Rich and I were new to
> > the area. We knew that the overnight emergency
> > veterinary clinic was only a few minutes away, but we
> > didn't know exactly how to get there. "I know where it
> > is!" declared Officer Mike. "Follow me!" So Mike got
> > into his patrol car, Rich got into the driver's seat
> > of our car, and I got into the back, carrying the
> > kitchen sink, what was left of the garbage disposal,
> > and Rudy.
> > >
> > It was now about 2:00 a.m. We followed Officer Mike
> > for a few blocks when I decided to put my hand into
> > the garbage disposal to pet Rudy's face, hoping I
> > could comfort him. Instead, my sweet, gentle bedfellow
> > chomped down on my finger really hard and wouldn't let
> > go. My scream reflex kicked into gear. Rich slammed on
> > the brakes, hollering "What? What happened? Should I
> > stop?" "No," I managed to get out between screams,
> > "just keep driving. Rudy's biting me, but we've got to
> > get to the vet. Just go!"
> > >
> > Rich turned his attention back to the road, where
> > Officer Mike took a turn we hadn't expected, and we
> > followed. After a few minutes Rudy let go, and as I
> > stopped screaming, I looked up to discover that we
> > were wandering aimlessly through an industrial park,
> > in and out of empty parking lots, past little streets
> > that didn't look at all familiar. "Where's he taking
> > us?" I asked. "We should have been there ten minutes
> > ago!" Rich was as mystified as I was, but all we knew
> > to do was follow the police car until, finally, he
> > pulled into a church parking lot and we pulled up next
> > to him.
> > >
> > As Rich rolled down the window to ask Officer Mike,
> > where are were going, the cop, who was not Mike,
> > rolled down his window and asked, "Why are you
> > following me?" Once Rich and I recovered from our
> > shock at having tailed the wrong cop car and the
> > policeman from his pique at being stalked, he led us
> > quickly to the emergency vet, where Mike greeted us by
> > holding open the door, exclaiming "Where were you
> > guys???"
> > >
> > It was lucky that Mike got to the vet's ahead of us,
> > because we hadn't thought to call and warn them about
> > what was coming. (Clearly, by this time we weren't
> > really thinking at all.) We brought in the kitchen
> > sink containing Rudy, and the garbage disposal
> > containing his head, and the clinic staff was ready.
> > They took his temperature (which was down 10 degrees)
> > and his oxygen level (which was half of normal), and
> > the vet declared, "This cat is in serious shock.We've
> > got to sedate him and get him out of there
> > immediately." When I asked if it was OK to sedate a
> > cat in shock, the vet said grimly, "We don't have a
> > choice." With that, he injected the cat. Rudy went
> > limp and the vet squeezed about half a tube of K-Y
> > jelly onto the cat's neck and pulled him free.
> > >
> > Then the whole team jumped into "code blue" mode. (I
> > know this from watching a lot of ER.) They laid Rudy
> > on a cart where one person hooked up IV fluids,
> > another put little socks on his paws ("You'd be amazed
> > how much heat they lose through their footpads," she
> > said), one covered him with hot water bottles and a
> > blanket, and another took a blow-dryer to warm up
> > Rudy's now very gunky head. The fur on his head dried
> > in stiff little spikes, making him look pathetically
> > punk as he lay there, limp and motionless.
> > >
> > At this point they sent Rich, Mike, and me to sit in
> > the waiting room while they tried to bring Rudy back
> > to life. I told Mike he didn't have to stay, but he
> > just stood there, shaking his head. "I've never seen
> > anything like this," he said again and again. At about
> >
> > 3 a.m., the vet came in to tell us that the prognosis
> > was good for a full recovery. They needed to keep Rudy
> > overnight to re-hydrate him and give him something for
> > the brain swelling they assumed he had, but if all
> > went well, we could take him home the following night.
> > Just in time to hear the good news, Officer Tom rushed
> > in, having finished with his real police work and
> > still concerned about Rudy.
> > >
> > Rich and I got back home about 3:30. We hadn't
> > unpacked from our trip, I was still intermittently
> > dizzy, and I still hadn't prepared for my 8:40 class.
> > "I need a vacation," I said, and while I called the
> > office to leave a message canceling my class, Rich
> > made us a pitcher of martinis. I slept late the next
> > day and then badgered the vet about Rudy's condition
> > until he said that Rudy could come home later that
> > day.
> > >
> > I was working on the suitcases when the phone rang.
> > "Hi, this is Steve Huskey from the Norristown
> > Times-Herald," a voice said. "Listen, I was just going
> > through the police blotter from last night. Um, do you
> > have a cat?" So I told Steve the whole story, which
> > interested him immensely. A couple hours later he
> > called back to say that his editor was interested,
> > too; did I have a picture of Rudy? The next day Rudy
> > was front-page news, under the ridiculous headline
> > "Catch of the Day Lands Cat in Hot Water."
> > >
> > There were some noteworthy repercussions to the
> > newspaper article. Mr. Huskey had somehow inferred
> > that I called 9-1-1 because I thought Rich, my
> > husband, was going into shock, although how he
> > concluded this from my comment that "his pads were
> > turning blue," I don't quite understand. So the first
> > thing I had to do was call Rich at work -- Rich, who
> > had worked tirelessly to free Rudy -- and swear that I
> > had been misquoted.
> > >
> > When I arrived at work myself, I was famous; people
> > had been calling my secretary all morning to inquire
> > about Rudy's health. When I called our regular vet
> > (whom I had met only once) to make a follow-up
> > appointment for Rudy, the receptionist asked, "Is this
> > the famous Rudy's mother?" When I took my car in for
> > routine maintenance a few days later, Dave, my
> > mechanic, said, "We read about your cat. Is he OK?"
> > When I called a tree surgeon about my dying red oak,
> > he asked if I knew the person on that street whose cat
> > had been in the garbage disposal. And when I went to
> > get my hair cut, the shampoo person told me the funny
> > story her grandma had read in the paper, about a cat
> > that got stuck in the garbage disposal.
> > >
> > Even today, over a year later, people ask about Rudy,
> > which a 9-year-old neighbor had always called "the
> > Adventure Cat" because he used to climb on the roof of
> > her house and peer in the second-story window at her.
> > I don't know what the moral of this story is, but I do
> > know that this "adventure" cost me $1,100 in emergency
> > vet bills, follow-up vet care, new sink, new plumbing,
> > new electrical wiring, and new garbage disposal -- one
> > with a cover. The vet can no longer say he's seen
> > everything but the kitchen sink.
> > >
> > I wanted to thank Officers Tom and Mike by giving them
> > gift certificates to the local hardware store, but was
> > told that they couldn't accept gifts, and that I would
> > put them in a bad position if I tried. So I wrote a
> > letter to the Police Chief praising their good deeds
> > and sent individual thank you notes to Tom and Mike,
> > complete with pictures of Rudy, so they could see what
> > he looks like with his head on. And Rudy, whom we
> > originally got for free (or so we thought), still
> > sleeps with me under the covers on cold nights, and,
> > unaccountably, still sometimes prowls the sink, hoping
> > for fish.
>
--
Date: Fri, 22 Mar 2002 13:09:01 -0800
From: "Larry Andrews" <Larrya at library.ucsd.edu>
To: <ADMongan at aol.com>, <Blondier at aol.com>, <Garnabus2 at aol.com>,
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Subject: Cats Do The Damnedest Things...


This is the story of the night my 10-year-old cat,
Rudy, got his head stuck in the garbage disposal. I
knew at the time that the experience would be funny if
the cat survived, so let me tell you right up front
that he's fine. Getting him out wasn't easy, though,
and the process included numerous home remedies, a
plumber, two cops, an emergency overnight veterinary
clinic, a case of mistaken identity, five hours of
panic, and 15 minutes of fame.
>
My husband Rich and I had just returned from a 5-day
vacation in the Cayman Islands -- where I had been
sick as a dog the whole time. We arrived home at 9
p.m., a day and a half later than we had planned
because of airline problems. I still had
illness-related vertigo, and because of the flight
delays had not been able to prepare for the class I
was supposed to teach at 8:40 the next morning. I sat
down at my desk to think about William Carlos
Williams, and around 10 o'clock I heard Rich hollering
from the kitchen.
>
I raced over to see what was wrong and spied Rich
frantically rooting around under the kitchen sink and
Rudy -- or, rather, Rudy's headless body -- scrambling
around in the sink, his claws clicking in panic on the
metal and his head stuck in the garbage disposal. Rich
had just ground up the skin of some smoked salmon in
the disposal, and when he left the room Rudy (who
always was a pinhead) had gone in after it. It is very
disturbing to see the headless body of your cat in the
sink. This is an animal that I have slept with nightly
for 10 years, who burrows under the covers and purrs
against my side, and who now looked like a fur-covered
turkey carcass, defrosting in the sink while it's
still alive and kicking.
>
It was also disturbing to see Rich, Mr.
Calm-in-any-Emergency, at his wit's end, trying to
simultaneously soothe Rudy and undo the garbage
disposal, and failing at both, and basically freaking
out. Adding to the chaos was Rudy's twin brother
Lowell, also upset, racing around in circles, jumping
onto the kitchen counter and alternately licking
Rudy's butt for comfort and biting it out of fear.
Clearly, I had to do something. First we tried to ease
Rudy out of the disposal by lubricating his head and
neck with Johnson's baby shampoo (kept on hand for my
nieces' visits) and butter-flavored Crisco. Both
failed, and a now-greasy Rudy kept struggling.
>
Rich then decided to take apart the garbage disposal,
which was a good idea, but he couldn't do it. Turns
out the thing is constructed like a metal onion: you
peel off one layer and another one appears, with
Rudy's head still buried deep inside, stuck in a hard
plastic collar. My job during this process was to sit
on the kitchen counter petting Rudy, trying to calm
him, with the room spinning (vertigo), Lowell howling
(he's part Siamese), and Rich clattering around under
the sink with his tools. When all our efforts failed,
we sought professional help. I called our regular
plumber, who actually called me back quickly, even at
11 o'clock at night (thanks, Dave). He talked Rich
through further layers of disposal dismantling, but
still we couldn't reach Rudy. I called the 1-800
number for Insinkerator (no response), a pest removal
service that advertises 24-hour service (no response),
an all-night emergency veterinary clinic (who had no
experience in this matter), and finally, in
desperation, 9-1-1.
>
I could see that Rudy's normally pink paw pads were
turning blue. The fire department, I figured, gets
cats out of trees; maybe they could get one out of a
garbage disposal. The dispatcher had other ideas and
offered to send over two policemen. The cops arrived
close to midnight and turned out to be quite nice.
More importantly, they were also able to think
rationally, which we were not. They were, of course,
astonished by the situation. "I've never seen anything
like this," Officer Mike kept saying. (The unusual
circumstances helped us get quickly on a first-name
basis with our cops.) Officer Tom, who expressed
immediate sympathy for our plight ("I've had cats all
my life," he said), also had an idea. Evidently we
needed a certain tool, a tiny, circular rotating saw,
that could cut through the heavy plastic flange
encircling Rudy's neck without hurting Rudy. Officer
Tom happened to own one. "I live just five minutes
from here," he said. "I'll go get it."
>
He soon returned, and the three of them -- Rich and
the two policemen -- got under the sink together to
cut through the garbage disposal. I sat on the
counter, holding Rudy and trying not to succumb to the
surreal-ness of the scene, with the weird
middle-of-the-night lighting, the room's occasional
spinning, Lowell's spooky sound effects, an apparently
headless cat in my sink and six disembodied legs
poking out from under it. One good thing came of this:
the guys did manage to get the bottom off the
disposal, so we could now see Rudy's face and knew he
could breathe. But they couldn't cut the flange
without risking the cat. Stumped.
>
Officer Tom had another idea. "You know," he said, "I
think the reason we can't get him out is the angle of
his head and body. (You can see where this is going,
can't you?) "If we could just get the sink out," he
>continued, "and lay it on its side, I'll bet we could
slip him out." That sounded like a good idea -- at
this point, ANYTHING would have sounded like a good
idea -- and as it turned out, Officer Mike runs a
plumbing business on weekends; he knew how to take out
the sink!
>
Again they went to work, the three pairs of legs
sticking out from under the sink, surrounded by an
ever-increasing pile of tools and sink parts. They cut
the electrical supply, capped off the plumbing lines,
unfastened the metal clamps, unscrewed all the pipes,
and about an hour later, viola! The sink was lifted
gently out of the countertop, with one guy holding the
garbage disposal which contained Rudy's head) up close
to the sink (which contained Rudy's body).
>
We laid the sink on its side, but even at this more
favorable angle, Rudy stayed stuck. Officer Tom's
radio beeped, calling him away on some kind of real
police business. As he was leaving, though, he had
another good idea. "You know," he said, "I don't think
we can get him out while he's struggling so much. We
need to get the cat sedated. If he were limp, we could
slide him out." And off he went, regretfully, a cat
lover still worried about Rudy.
>
The remaining three of us decided that getting Rudy
sedated was a good idea, but Rich and I were new to
the area. We knew that the overnight emergency
veterinary clinic was only a few minutes away, but we
didn't know exactly how to get there. "I know where it
is!" declared Officer Mike. "Follow me!" So Mike got
into his patrol car, Rich got into the driver's seat
of our car, and I got into the back, carrying the
kitchen sink, what was left of the garbage disposal,
and Rudy.
>
It was now about 2:00 a.m. We followed Officer Mike
for a few blocks when I decided to put my hand into
the garbage disposal to pet Rudy's face, hoping I
could comfort him. Instead, my sweet, gentle bedfellow
chomped down on my finger really hard and wouldn't let
go. My scream reflex kicked into gear. Rich slammed on
the brakes, hollering "What? What happened? Should I
stop?" "No," I managed to get out between screams,
"just keep driving. Rudy's biting me, but we've got to
get to the vet. Just go!"
>
Rich turned his attention back to the road, where
Officer Mike took a turn we hadn't expected, and we
followed. After a few minutes Rudy let go, and as I
stopped screaming, I looked up to discover that we
were wandering aimlessly through an industrial park,
in and out of empty parking lots, past little streets
that didn't look at all familiar. "Where's he taking
us?" I asked. "We should have been there ten minutes
ago!" Rich was as mystified as I was, but all we knew
to do was follow the police car until, finally, he
pulled into a church parking lot and we pulled up next
to him.
>
As Rich rolled down the window to ask Officer Mike,
where are were going, the cop, who was not Mike,
rolled down his window and asked, "Why are you
following me?" Once Rich and I recovered from our
shock at having tailed the wrong cop car and the
policeman from his pique at being stalked, he led us
quickly to the emergency vet, where Mike greeted us by
holding open the door, exclaiming "Where were you
guys???"
>
It was lucky that Mike got to the vet's ahead of us,
because we hadn't thought to call and warn them about
what was coming. (Clearly, by this time we weren't
really thinking at all.) We brought in the kitchen
sink containing Rudy, and the garbage disposal
containing his head, and the clinic staff was ready.
They took his temperature (which was down 10 degrees)
and his oxygen level (which was half of normal), and
the vet declared, "This cat is in serious shock.We've
got to sedate him and get him out of there
immediately." When I asked if it was OK to sedate a
cat in shock, the vet said grimly, "We don't have a
choice." With that, he injected the cat. Rudy went
limp and the vet squeezed about half a tube of K-Y
jelly onto the cat's neck and pulled him free.
>
Then the whole team jumped into "code blue" mode. (I
know this from watching a lot of ER.) They laid Rudy
on a cart where one person hooked up IV fluids,
another put little socks on his paws ("You'd be amazed
how much heat they lose through their footpads," she
said), one covered him with hot water bottles and a
blanket, and another took a blow-dryer to warm up
Rudy's now very gunky head. The fur on his head dried
in stiff little spikes, making him look pathetically
punk as he lay there, limp and motionless.
>
At this point they sent Rich, Mike, and me to sit in
the waiting room while they tried to bring Rudy back
to life. I told Mike he didn't have to stay, but he
just stood there, shaking his head. "I've never seen
anything like this," he said again and again. At about

3 a.m., the vet came in to tell us that the prognosis
was good for a full recovery. They needed to keep Rudy
overnight to re-hydrate him and give him something for
the brain swelling they assumed he had, but if all
went well, we could take him home the following night.
Just in time to hear the good news, Officer Tom rushed
in, having finished with his real police work and
still concerned about Rudy.
>
Rich and I got back home about 3:30. We hadn't
unpacked from our trip, I was still intermittently
dizzy, and I still hadn't prepared for my 8:40 class.
"I need a vacation," I said, and while I called the
office to leave a message canceling my class, Rich
made us a pitcher of martinis. I slept late the next
day and then badgered the vet about Rudy's condition
until he said that Rudy could come home later that
day.
>
I was working on the suitcases when the phone rang.
"Hi, this is Steve Huskey from the Norristown
Times-Herald," a voice said. "Listen, I was just going
through the police blotter from last night. Um, do you
have a cat?" So I told Steve the whole story, which
interested him immensely. A couple hours later he
called back to say that his editor was interested,
too; did I have a picture of Rudy? The next day Rudy
was front-page news, under the ridiculous headline
"Catch of the Day Lands Cat in Hot Water."
>
There were some noteworthy repercussions to the
newspaper article. Mr. Huskey had somehow inferred
that I called 9-1-1 because I thought Rich, my
husband, was going into shock, although how he
concluded this from my comment that "his pads were
turning blue," I don't quite understand. So the first
thing I had to do was call Rich at work -- Rich, who
had worked tirelessly to free Rudy -- and swear that I
had been misquoted.
>
When I arrived at work myself, I was famous; people
had been calling my secretary all morning to inquire
about Rudy's health. When I called our regular vet
(whom I had met only once) to make a follow-up
appointment for Rudy, the receptionist asked, "Is this
the famous Rudy's mother?" When I took my car in for
routine maintenance a few days later, Dave, my
mechanic, said, "We read about your cat. Is he OK?"
When I called a tree surgeon about my dying red oak,
he asked if I knew the person on that street whose cat
had been in the garbage disposal. And when I went to
get my hair cut, the shampoo person told me the funny
story her grandma had read in the paper, about a cat
that got stuck in the garbage disposal.
>
Even today, over a year later, people ask about Rudy,
which a 9-year-old neighbor had always called "the
Adventure Cat" because he used to climb on the roof of
her house and peer in the second-story window at her.
I don't know what the moral of this story is, but I do
know that this "adventure" cost me $1,100 in emergency
vet bills, follow-up vet care, new sink, new plumbing,
new electrical wiring, and new garbage disposal -- one
with a cover. The vet can no longer say he's seen
everything but the kitchen sink.
>
I wanted to thank Officers Tom and Mike by giving them
gift certificates to the local hardware store, but was
told that they couldn't accept gifts, and that I would
put them in a bad position if I tried. So I wrote a
letter to the Police Chief praising their good deeds
and sent individual thank you notes to Tom and Mike,
complete with pictures of Rudy, so they could see what
he looks like with his head on. And Rudy, whom we
originally got for free (or so we thought), still
sleeps with me under the covers on cold nights, and,
unaccountably, still sometimes prowls the sink, hoping
for fish.


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