Halloween Vet Horror

I had to take Murff to the vet for his check up this morning.
The usual receptionist was off and I was faced with an ex pupil.
(The Tame Pharmacist said ‘I thought he looked like one of yours’)
It also appeared that he and dental hygiene had been estranged since his school days.
He was one of those you clock in year 7 and think, “Christ, that boy is gay!” but the parents insist that he isn’t, has lots of girlfriends and it’s your fault he is bullied.
“Ooooooh!” he screamed, “Is that our Murphy? He is such a sexy cat!”
He minced from the desk to come and irritate us both.
At this point Murphy decided it was time to do the ‘I’m beaten and starved’ cry, which made reception boy jump an octave to, fucking shrill.

The vet wasn’t the usual one either.
I’m not convinced this one was born a woman. As she was handling the cat I kept thinking that she had arms like my Dad.
I swear the cat looked at the size of her fingers and sat down quickly.
All is well with Murphy but he has got to stay on the special, expensive, only available from them food.
Funny that.
She judgementally told me that he had put on weight and was obese.
I reminded her she had said NOT to let him out and there isn’t an awful lot of exercise to be had indoors.
I think that’s when she started to hate me.
I doubt my, ‘I Club Seals’ shirt helped with that either.
He has got to go back next week with a urine sample that, somehow, I have to take from him.
That should be fun, with cat piss being so aromatic and all.
I had to face reception boy again and his constant squealing, “I know you from somewhere! I do! G-d! Your face is sooo familiar!”
He then loudly listed a load of gay venues he might have seen me at and I admitted to one, to shut him up.
Looking at him wide eyed and horrified while miming Shush didn’t work.
He WAS outing me in front of the full waiting room for fucks sake!
I was there fifteen minutes and left £45 poorer, trying not to make eye contact with the Gossip-y woman from Mass.

Thankfully I remembered to buy sweets for the Trick or Treat fuckers.
This year I have gone for high E number content in deep reds and purples.
Everything has at least six numbers and three colourings, not that easy to find I can tell you.
I love that we are so multi-cultural around here. Weird, wonderful and possibly unregulated sweeties.
Hyperactive vomiting is something to behold.
Hopefully they will go back to some other kid’s house and do a bit of bed trampoline.
If my plan works it should look like a suicide bomber has gone off!