Of Cops and Kittens

My kittens had to get fixed yesterday. I took them to the vet at 8am, held them down while a rectal thermometer was used, then kissed them goodbye. I had a bad taste in my mouth all day and felt terrible about knowing that right-this-second-my-baby-is-hurting. Kribi's heart murmur has subsided to a grade 1 or 2, which means it is okay to go under anesthesia, but I was still very concerned we may lose him in surgery.

I left a little bit early to go pick them up from the vet's office so I could go to the post office and mail my mom's birthday present. To get to the post office I take a left from Karluk Street onto 15th Ave and have a block to change lanes and take a right on Ingra. I did this while listening to a little White Stripes.

Background Story: About two weeks ago Greg was talking about the first time he got pulled over by a police officer. He looked at me for the token My First Time story. I told one of my friend's stories about the first time she got pulled over and thus deflecting the emphasis off of me. Then, I told him the truth. I had never been pulled over by a police officer and NEVER admit it out loud because that means it would happen. But he's my husband and so I told him - you're not supposed to have secrets from your spouse, right?

Back to the Real Story (although I am sure you see where I am going with this): About a block down Ingra I hear a little "woop-woop!" I look and see a police officer behind me and pull into the right lane. He follows. I wonder why he didn't speed by me and then it dawns on me that he wants to pull me over, so I turn right on the next street and stop. I cannot figure out what he could possibly want with me and I am wracking my brain to figure out what I did. I grab my purse from the front seat next to me and start getting out my wallet and then remember that I heard somewhere you're not supposed to do that because the police officer may think you're going after a gun. I am in Alaska, after all, where you don't need a concealed weapons permit to carry a gun. I immediately grab the arm rest in the middle of the seats and my door and sit up straight as an arrow.

PO: Hi.
Me: (horrified look on my face) Hi.
PO: license, registration, and proof of insurance please
Me: (realizing it is now okay to move, I provide it for him)
PO: What lane do you make a right hand turn from? One, Two, Three, or Four?
Me: (confused and scared look )Um, the right lane?
PO: So lane one?
Me: Yeah. I wasn't sure which lane the counting started.
PO: What do you do when you turn?
Me: Put on a turn signal?
PO: Yes.
Me: Did I not do that?
PO: No. You also cut me off.
Me: (huge, plate sized eyes) I did?!?
PO: Yes. You didn't see me though because I turned my lights on right away.
Me: (furrowed brow) I've never been pulled over before!
My Internal Voice: Shut-up! Don't say another word! Quiet!
PO: You did get in the right lane once you noticed me, which was good.
Me: Thank God I did something right.
PO: I'll be right back.
Walks back to his car then returns
PO: Where are the license plates that match the registration?
Me: (guiltily pull Alaska plates from the holder on the door) Right here.
PO: (looking surprised then slowly makes his way to the front of the car while I am talking.)
Me: My husband hasn't put them on yet (my head is now outside the window in order to talk to him at the front of the car) which I know is no excuse. I should get the screwdriver and do it myself, but I didn't. (sat defeated in the car.)
PO: That's a $150 ticket
Me: (sank lower in seat)
PO: What did we learn today?
Me: Where do I even begin? Put my license plate on myself. Use a turn signal.
PO: Don't cut off a cop car?
Me: (nodding) That's probably the most important.
PO: (trying really hard not to smile) Probably. Have a nice day.
Me: (head out the window again) Really? Thank you!!!

Police officer pulls away I burst into tears. I call Greg, who is on his way home, and we decide to pick up the kittens together. He drives. Greg doesn't take my panic seriously and consistently gives me the same trying-not-to-smile look the police officer gave me.

I am in a little bit of a state when arrive at the vet. I run in and don't wait for Greg. While dealing with the nurse she tells me "Kribi had a bit of a problem." The floodgates release but the tears have not exploded from my eyes - yet. "Yes," replied to vet tech, "he won't leave his testicles alone." This doesn't compute. "What?!?" I say. Apparently this is quite a priceless look because the ladies keep referring the how they wish they could see it again. It seems as though Kribi wouldn't stop licking his wounds and so they had to give him an e-collar, like the one the black dog wears in Endless Summer. But littler. Kitten size. I laugh at the absurdity of trying to imagine Kribi in one, but the initial scare brought the cop tears back to the surface and I am concentrating very hard to keep them in control. Greg pats my shoulder less to comfort me but to say "pull it together, crazy."

The vet walk out with the kittens and I melt. Their eyes are so scared and blank. Their fur is a little mangled. "Hi Kids" in a little girl's voice slips out, at which the ladies all talk about as so cute, and then my reaction face is brought back up. The tears are there and I can't do a thing about it. One of the ladies hands me a tissue. The vet gives me the same trying-not-to-laugh-and-instead-take-you-serious that the Cop and Greg gave me. (Three times in one 15 minutes stretch. That has to be a record.) The vet tells me post-op directions, none of which I hear. I think Greg may be embarrassed of me, but I'm not sure. I stop crying by the time I get home.

Here is the photo of Kribi in his collar. It's not very good because he wouldn't sit still in it. We took it off because we couldn't handle the torture, and instead yell at him to stop licking his ball every half hour or so.

I hope you find me endearing and not crazy as a result of this story. I am sane. At least I think I am.