I drove into school, thinking how happy I was that I hadn't seen another dead animal in the road lately. Right as I thought it, I saw a large cat, or possibly raccoon, dead in the middle of the road. I averted my eyes and swerved to miss it.
I noticed the bruise on the arm of one of my Karen girls.
"What's that?" I asked. She started giggling, suspiciously.
"A hickie!" she howled and my other student lifted up her wrist to show me a commiserate mark.
"We gave them to ourselves!" she shrieked, then updated the mark with her mouth.
Lola threw up again, a lot of bile.
"Let's put her on chicken and rice, that's what the vet always says to do."
Alec drove to the store and bought the supplies. We cooked it and gave Lola. She threw up the whole meal, undigested, within minutes.
"I guess we have to do the twenty-four hour fast."
"I don't want to walk home. I don't want to see that dead cat. I try not to look but I look anyway and now I can see its bones...." Alberto informed me.
"That cat is still there?" I asked, incredulous.
"YES! It used to come into my backyard. A squirrel, a possum, I don't know, it doesn't bother me so much. But a cat...."
"I feel the same way, Alberto. I am so sorry. If you don't mind, I am going to email someone right now about this...."
I opened my laptop and emailed the sanitation department, the same place I emailed when I couldn't look at the dog that looked like Lola laying in the street a minute longer.
Lola's vomiting was increasing. I walked outside and found her in the bushes, snout pushed to the ground, violently dry heaving right next to an old pile of poop. She would never come that close to poop if she was okay. I was horrified and brought her inside. And for some reason, I left for about forty-five minutes. Or maybe I didn't leave then, because the day is becoming a blur to me. But, I did leave while she was sick.
"This thing keeps going up like a vampire..." Angel mentioned, randomly, pointing to the collar on his shirt.
"Or romantic movies...." Alejandro finished intently, reading a definition out loud to the class, carefully.
"Alejandro!" one of the only nice teachers in my school called out.
"Step back from those romantic movies! Te quiero!!!"
Alejandro smiled and turned bright red.
I came home and found four piles of bile-vomit on the floor. One of them was tinted with blood. I cleaned it up and tried to call the vet. They were closed. Lola vomited again, and it was clear of blood. I paced and waited. She wanted to go outside. I kept her in, deciding that anything that was going to happen was going to happen right where I could see it. She crouched, like she was going to poop. I hovered. Blood sprayed from her bottom. A lot of blood. I put her leash on and raced her to the emergency vet.
We arrived at the vet and they took us to a room. Lola crouched and blood sprayed from her again. I started screaming and crying and waving for someone to help us.
We stayed several hours. They took her to the back and pumped her with fluids. Then, they recommended taking Lola home, along with a bag of medicine and a lot of things to watch for. We drove slowly down Abernathy and onto Georgia Avenue. She looked solemn. I thought about riding back from Mexico with her. My warrior. My valiant dog. I clenched my fists on the steering wheel, but started to relax near Summerhill. H. Johnson was on the radio, and I turned it up a little, hoping it would sooth her.
She violently vomited multiple times when we got home, the one thing they said I should be worried about. She paced, visibly uncomfortable, clawing the furniture and driving her face into the couch and chair corners. It was misery. Finally, she laid between my legs on the bed and fell asleep, her head in her paws. I watched her sleep for three hours. In the morning, I took her back to the vet and they admitted her, without asking me or trying to talk me into it. Sunday was a bad day. Monday was too. They were doing tests and warned of emergency surgery. Alec and I could only visit her. She was on intravenous medicine and food. She was lethargic and dirty. She was horribly ill. Every minute I was away from her I wondered if my dog was dead and they hadn't told me yet. I couldn't sleep or think. My stomach was raw. My thoughts were dark. Very dark.
I went to work Tuesday morning. A co-worker instructed me to wash my face, though I had just arrived.
"It's in the eyes, you can tell something is wrong...." she said lowly.
I felt sicker and sicker. I called the vet on my first break.
"She started eating on her own. The blockage we thought we saw isn't visible anymore, she can go home."
I asked a lot of questions. Then, I packed up all of my things and stacked them on my desk so that I could drive to the vet the minute I was allowed to leave.
"Soooo, my dad came to visit and I have one more high, my sister is gay....!" Alberto continued, his Mexican accent extending all of his vowels.
"What, um, your sister is...?"
"Gay" he said happily. He shrugged.
"It's fine. She told us. She has a crush on a girl."
"Okay. But, is the cat gone?" Angel asked.
"YES!" he answered.
"Yes it is!"
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