A Real Animal House

I don’t usually dis places of business but tonight’s experience with a certain business has left me fuming.

After struggling to get two cats into two pet carriers to take them to the vet, we then traveled 15 minutes having to listen to their meowing all the way.  That was no big deal.

We arrived 15 minutes early for our 6:00 p.m. appointment.  There were two people and a dog present and the office person/nurse/whatevershewas was conversing with a man about where to bury his pet.  We took a seat and waited patiently with the two cats.  By now the cats had been in the carriers nearly 30 minutes.  Finally the office person was done talking to the man who wants to bury his pet.  I gave her the names of the cats, there for a 6:00 appointment.  She asked if we brought a stool sample.  We did and I gave it to her.

I sat back down.  She told me that one of the cats would need his shots.  I already knew this because they told me on the phone when I made the appointment for 6:00 p.m.

More time passed.  The two people who were in there when we arrived had their dog brought back to them from a back room.  A man and a woman who had been standing in the waiting room for almost as long as we had been there were told to bring in their dog.  My first thought was “your dog has been sitting out in the car all this time”?  After they brought in their dog to get weighed, in walked another man and woman without any pets.

By now we had been there for nearly 45 minutes.  Then the office person turns to me and says, “Oh, you’ll have to reschedule because your appointment was at 5:20.”

“That’s impossible because I would never have made an appointment for that time, since I wouldn’t have been able to make it here in time.  I know it was clearly for 6:00.  You even called to confirm yesterday and said it was 6:00.”

Then another twit piped up and snidely said, “Well, you could wait 40 minutes and the doctor may be able to see them.”

WHAT?  By now the cats are about ready to jump out of the carriers and I’m about ready to smash some heads.

“Forget it,” I said and we grabbed the carriers with the cats in them and left, announcing as we headed out the door that we would be going somewhere else.

If Wickaboag only wants to cater to dogs, then they should say that.  Apparently they were more interested in servicing people with dogs than people with cats.  But what I really didn’t like was being lied to, especially after making us wait 45 minutes.  Think about it.  If our appointment was REALLY for 5:20 (which it wasn’t), WHY would she have even asked if we had a stool sample?  Wouldn’t she had told us right away that we were late?

I’ve been going to Wickaboag Veterinary Clinic for my various pets for over twenty years.  My two cats were established there.  Not anymore.  On to another vet, one who will actually take the time to care for my cats.


Coming Out Of The Storm

Wouldn’t it be nice if life were perfect?  Every day would be a happy, uneventful moment.  We could just get up from a good night’s sleep and do whatever we do all day.  Nobody would shoot us down.  We could eat cake without affecting our blood sugar.  We could get through a day without getting ill or facing critical medical events which can change our lives in a heartbeat.

Yeah, that would be great.


Unfortunately life doesn’t work that way.  Damn life.  Instead of being perfect we’re forced to make choices we may not want to.  We have to do things we don’t want to do.  We may make mistakes we regret for the rest of our lives.  Sometimes life really does seem like a box of chocolates because, as Forrest Gump famously said “you never know what you’re going to get”.  I think that is also what makes life beautiful.

For most of us we plan our lives out a certain way, but they usually don’t turn out the way we planned at all.  On Monday we may have the intention of getting married on Saturday.  Then lightning strikes (maybe literally) and we’re in a coma.  One day we may be chatting it up with a bunch of people on the Internet; the next day we’re suffering a stroke.  One morning we may get up, get ready for work, kiss our spouse good-bye and never end up leaving the house because we drop dead in the foyer due to an aneurysm.

I’m a firm believer that life sends out little “warnings” to us when things get too crazy.  It messages us, telling us what we’re about to do is wrong and throws us a curve to purposely get us off track.  There are a lot of things none of us will ever figure out about life, for as long as we live.

But it still would be great if it were perfect.


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Still A Runaway American Dream

Forty years ago Bruce Springsteen graced our ears with the drum-pounding anthem “Born To Run”.

The title track was released before the album which was going to be a make-it-or-break-it situation for The Boss.  Up to this point his musical career had been a mere “meh”.  The song “Born To Run”, along with the rest of the critically acclaimed album, changed everything for Bruce Springsteen and his fellow E Streeters.

Before the end of 1975 the release of the album would even have two of the nation’s top-selling magazines practically fighting over a Springsteen feature.  The simple solution was to have Springsteen appear on the covers of both Newsweek and Time in the same week.

“Born To Run” is my absolute favorite Springsteen song.  With this tune The Boss takes us along for a ride (with Wendy, of course) down highway nine, more than likely on a motorcycle.  We venture to the old Asbury Park area, the one Springsteen knew growing up.  You can hear the classic cars roaring “beyond the Palace”, the kids shouting throughout the amusement park, smell the salty Atlantic air, see the “kids huddled on the beach in a mist”.  The song has summertime road trip written all over it.

We should all take Bruce’s advice and “get out while we’re young”.  Tramp or no tramp, in one way or another, we were all “born to run”.

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Don’t Like It? Don’t Read It

As a writer I’ve never forced anyone to read what I write nor have I ever told them to like what I write.  I’m not out to make everyone like what I write.  When I write I’m not out to please everyone.  If I please a few, fine.  If I please nobody, I don’t care.  If I offend you, oh well.  Go stand over in the corner with all the other crybabies until I give a FUCK!  Which will be never…

I’ll do a take on something a rock star once said on his website “blog” years ago:  The name on the door of this blog says “michellemchatton.com”.  You know what that means?  It means it’s MY blog.  It means I can write whatever the fuck I want to on this blog. I own the domain.  If I want to say “horrible” things about someone on my blog, I will.  I have never threatened anyone on this blog.  That is not my thing.  I may throw names around, as many have done to me, but what’s good for the goose, is good for the gander.  Many times “horrible” things are the truth, whether you want to believe it or not.  Many writers say “horrible” things about people every day.  Any “horrible” things I may have said are only “horrible” because they may be a result of something “horrible” that happened to me years ago or a month ago or a day ago.  Oh, I’m a bully?  Don’t question a “bully” until you know all the facts.  And make sure you’re not actually the one doing the bullying.

If you don’t like what I write on my blog, on Facebook, on Twitter, on Instagram, etc., I have a very simple solution:  DON’T READ IT.  I write what I write because (1) I love to write (2) it’s part of my job (3) I want to write it and (Z) it’s my opinion.  And if you, the reader, don’t like it, guess what?  As many artists before me have also said:  I.  DON’T.  CARE.  I don’t have time to care, especially about something so petty.

So move along, little Twitster and go bully someone else who you think is so “horrible”.  You’ve wasted enough of my time.


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Failing The Child

Many adults and organizations failed little two-year-old Avalena.

First her parents, a couple of drug addicted criminals.  They are first to blame because if they hadn’t been the selfish losers that they are, more than likely Ava would still be alive.

DCF failed the little girl next when they placed her in a foster home with an incompetent foster mother.  Of course if DCF had done their job in the first place, did better screening of the foster parent and notified the foster parent’s landlord of the placement of the child, maybe Ava would still be alive.

Then there is the foster mother, Kim Malpass.  She’s almost as big a “winner” as poor Ava’s biological mother.  Apparently afraid she would have been rejected for housing in her subsidized apartment (and of course losing some money), she conveniently failed to tell the Auburn Housing Authority that in addition to her three biological children, she had taken in three foster kids.  Maybe if she had been a more responsible foster-mother, Ava would still be alive

And finally the Auburn Housing Authority failed Ava because it either never noticed that Malpass had too many people living in her little apartment or they did notice and just ignored it.  Because hey, rent money is rent money and after all, the kids need a place to live.  And in this case die.

So who is to blame for this poor child’s death and the hospitalization of another?  I’d say all four mentioned above are to blame.  They all had some kind of responsibility to keep these kids safe and they all failed.  Tremendously.

Sadly the only winner in this story is Ava.  At only two she had already endured way more than any child should.  At least she won’t have to grow up going from foster home to foster home, maybe eventually witnessing her mother’s overdose death, ending up abused and alone.  More than likely that’s the kind of life she may have been handed.  At least now she won’t have to live it.


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Doing The Donald

Donald Trump is one comedic idiot.

This man thinks automatic citizenship should not be granted to children of illegal immigrants. Oh boy. Apparently The Donald needs a history lesson.

Guess what, Donnie-boy?  Unless your direct descendants were Native Americans (and I don’t think they were), YOU and everyone else are ALL “illegal”!  Our ancestors hopped on a boat almost 400 years ago, leaving their home land because things weren’t going so well between them and the King.  They landed on a rock in what is now called Plymouth, Massachusetts.  And then they met the people who already lived here:  the Indians–the Pokanokets and Wampanoags, among others.  Yup.  These foreigners from England “illegally” stepped foot on the land where these Indians had been residing for eons and BOOM!  Yes they had come here for a better way of life–isn’t that what most illegal immigrants come here for?  But soon these illegal immigrants decided to start taking things over.  They even took it upon themselves to bring smallpox and other fatal diseases with them to the new land and pass them around to the innocent, original residents.  How nice of these illegal immigrants called the Pilgrims.  They managed to single-handedly kill off a great deal of the native population.

Considering all the things the illegal white man did to the Native Americans and their country, many were trustworthy individuals and let the white man stay.  Sure there were incidents.  But the Indians didn’t sic their government on these new settlers.  Instead the white man created a government which eventually dictated where the Indians would live.  How is that for some turned tables?

So, Donald, the next time you start complaining about “illegals” in this country, just remember where you more than likely originated from.  You illegal American, you!


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An Open Letter To “The Cougher”

Dear Oh Most Irritating Hacker:

Do you have fucking emphysema or what? Have you seen a goddamn doctor for that phlegm hack I have to listen to every fucking day? I sure hope whatever you have is not catchy, although I have a feeling nobody will catch it because your annoyance is more likely from those lovely cancer sticks you smoke everyday. Yeah, keep on puffin’, bitch.

Cougher, do us all a fucking favor and see a doctor. PRONTO. For not only your own health but the fucking sanity of those around you!

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“No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.”

The beauty of being an artist, whether it be actor, painter, writer, musician, athlete, dancer, etc., is that when your time on Earth is through, the work you did, whether known or unknown, good or bad, is left behind for eons of generations to acknowledge and even enjoy.

Robin Williams left us a year ago today. Physically. But his legend will live on for an eternity in everything he did, from being a mime in Central Park to being an alien from Ork; from Comic Relief to “Boulevard” and everything in between, good and bad.

I truly believe everyone is put on this Earth for a purpose. Robin’s purpose was to make us laugh. That he did and always will. Like so many other talented artists gone before him, he cannot, will not, be forgotten.


Karma Is A Bitch

This whole “Ashley Madison” thing leaves me to wonder:  Are there really that many people out there unhappy in their current relationships?  Thirty-seven million people? I wonder how many of these people are in “open” relationships.  I wonder why they would want to be in an “open” relationship.

If you feel you must cheat on your significant other, why bother having a significant other?

Score:  Cheaters and Ashley Madison.com – 0

Therapists of all kinds – 1

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