The Larson Family

Yesterday was zero day for Gizmo. Neutering time. The vet I spoke of in my previous blog–This Kitty’s Gone Nuts–works out of his home, and I was pretty suspicious to be honest. He lives here in North Fargo, and offered to come by the house and pick Gizmo up for a ten dollar fee. Things being tight and all, I thought I’d drop him off and save the ten bucks. But no matter what I said, this vet insisted on coming to pick him up. He even knocked off the ten bucks, and still came to pick him up. Makes me wonder if this guy didn’t want me to see where he lives for some reason.

Yesterday afternoon the vet shows up, writes me a receipt and proof of vaccination slip, and leaves with Gizmo. As he was leaving, he said he might bring Gizmo back in a few hours, depending on how he’s recovering. Well, he called me last night to tell me a few things. First, Gizmo peed all over inside his kennel after his ‘procedure’ and then rolled around in it. So he was kinda stinky. At about ten o’clock, he called again to say Gizmo was still pretty groggy from the sedative and could barely walk, so the Vet was gonna keep him overnight. He said he’d bring him back at eight-thirty in the morning.

So, seven-thirty rolls around and the doorbell rings. I vaulted out of bed, threw some clothes on and answered the door to find the Vet standing there with Gizmo in his pet carrier. He looked terrible. The Vet said he had a hard time giving Gizmo the antibiotic tablets, so he just gave him a shot instead. He then requested I return the handful of antibiotic pills he gave me yesterday since the shot would supposedly handle the chance of infection. We shook hands and he left.

I crouched down and opened the pet carrier and Gizmo wouldn’t even come out. Poor kitty was so groggy he could barely walk. I picked him up lifted him out, and that was when I realized it looked my kitty had gone through Vietnam. He must have been rubbing his face on the cage all night, trying to get out, because he rubbed a bare spot on his nose. I set him down on the floor and he wobbled his way into the dining room, hid under a futon for a bit, and then staggered his way downstairs, all the while walking with his hind legs a foot apart. He looked like a cowboy that just got off a horse after a three month cattle drive.

I haven’t even gotten a chance to check out his stitches yet, because he’s so fragile, I don’t dare mess with him. Hope everything is OK with him… he’s spent most of the day hiding in the basement. — Troy

About a year ago, a co-worker brought a box of farm kitties into work. We didn’t intend to get another cat–we already have one, Tigger, seventeen years old–but one of these little kittens looked up at me with sweet little green eyes… Oh, he was so cute. He was even the same color as Tigger. Charcoal gray with a white belly and paws.

So I sent my wife a text and asked if she wanted another kitty who looked just like Tigger. Big mistake. A twenty mile drive later, we were on our way home with a new kitty. A farm kitty no less.

After some debate, my suggestion for a name won out. We decided to call him Gizmo, although my wife and son have taken to calling him Gizzy Poo Poo, or just Poo Poo. And he was oh-so-sweet… for awhile.

Before too long, Poo Poo had appropriated my son’s favorite stuffed animal, Bob the Pop Tart Monkey (that name is another story), as his humping buddy. And man does he hump it. That poor monkey has taken it in the pooper more times than a forty-year-old adult film starlet. And he loves to do it in the middle of the room too. Gizmo has taken to picking the monkey up by the scruff of the neck and bringing him into whatever room we’re in, just so we can watch him work. And he makes this weird noise when he’s doing it too… it gets pretty old hearing that in our bedroom at night.

The humping isn’t the worst of it, though. Now Gizzy Poo Poo has become Gizzy Pee Pee. He’s begun to spray, or mark his territory so to speak. And it stinks. And we’re doing the laundry like ten times per week to keep the smell down. Not to mention chasing him around the house and yelling at him every time we catch him.

We’ve had our fill of it now, and it’s time to get this kitty neutered. But neutering is really expensive these days. I called to set up an appointment for him today, and was astounded at what they’re asking. A pre-surgical exam–fifty bucks. Vaccinations–fifteen bucks per shot. And the neutering itself–one hundred thirty to one hundred fifty dollars. I mean, I was probably looking at two fifty to three hundred by the time I was done. Plus they wanted me to jump through all these hoops. First I had to bring him in with a stool sample for the pre-surgical exam. Only when the Doctor gave him the go ahead for neutering would I have been able to set an appointment for the neutering on a separate visit. I don’t know about you, but I’m busy. “Yes, um, could you just cut my cat’s nuts off without all the paperwork please?”

So, I called another joint… same deal, although a little cheaper. And then I found someone else. A vet who was listed only by name, not affiliated with an “animal hospital”. When I called, he answered the phone by saying “hello?” loudly. Not the most formal greeting. Turns out, he’s a retired vet who now works out of his house. Is this even legal? Who knew? You know, I once called the city to get some information about the health regulations for running a hot dog cart. And I was shocked at how strict the regulations were to boil some hot dogs. But this guy can run a veterinary business out of his home?? How would you like to be his garbage collector?

Anyway, he’s a lot cheaper, actually comes to your house to pick up ‘the animal’ as he put it, and no annoying exams or vaccination records required. After an overnight stay and some antibiotics, little Gizmo will be back home, licking his wounds no doubt. And Tigger, who was neutered long ago, will be wearing a big smile on his face. And Bob the Pop Tart Monkey will be getting the last laugh over this kitty’s gone nuts. — Troy

After my blog post yesterday, I did a little research on exactly how much things have changed since 1973. This is just some of what I found.

First, look at the ad to the left. It’s from a 1973 issue of Playboy magazine. “A Mini Sliderule”… in other words, a calculator, for the low, low price of $69.95! Of all the things I discovered today, the prices are what shocked me the most. For example:

• In 1973, the average price of a new house was $32,500.
• The average American yearly income was $12,500.
• If you rented an apartment in 1973, on average your monthly rent was $175.
• You could buy a brand new car, an AMC Javelin for only $2900.
• Filling that car with gas would have cost about eight bucks because a gallon of gas was just 40-cents.
• 45-cents would buy a dozen eggs.

Also in 1973, the Roe vs. Wade ruling was handed down in the US Supreme Court, the Watergate hearings began, armed members of the American Indian Movement seized Wounded Knee in South Dakota, and Secretariat won the Triple Crown. Skylab was launched, the barcode became common, and the Sears Tower was completed, surpassing the World Trade Center as the tallest building in the world.

Popular movies included:

• The Exorcist
• Deliverance
• American Graffiti

and some of the top TV shows were:

• M*A*S*H
• The Odd Couple
• McMillan and Wife - (how’s that for a politically incorrect title?)
• Sanford and Son
• Columbo
• The Bob Newhart Show

There was no such things as a cassette deck, CD player, personal computer, or satellite TV. Cable TV was in its infancy, and offering a whopping ten channels. My how times have changed. –Troy

In 1973, my Uncle Jim went to prison in Michigan. He was convicted of murder. At risk of going into too much detail and getting it wrong, I will just say that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and a man he calls an “aquaintance” killed another man. He went to trial and was convicted. He’s been shuffled around the state of Michigan, to different correctional facilities, for the last thirty six years.

I’ve corresponded with him off and on since I was about twelve years old, and he’s always been honest and upfront about his past, making no excuses for his misdeeds. He’s become an educated man in prison, and has mellowed with age. He’s now in his sixties.

For many years, he’s been going to parole hearings, all to no effect. He’s been denied parole every time. Early on, family members of the victim would show up and plead with the parole board to keep my uncle in prison, but as of late, the parole hearings have been more and more sparsely attended. The judge who convicted my uncle has died. The attorney who tried him has died. And the man who actually committed the murder is also dead. At the last parole hearing, my Mom was the only member of the public who attended.

Half an hour ago, I got a call from my Mom–his sister. My Uncle Jim is being paroled on December 16th. My Mom and her other brother Johnny are going to Michigan to pick him up, and then driving him back to North Dakota to be reunited with my Grandmother. And I will get to meet him for the first time I can remember. My Mom tells me I met him once when I was a young boy, but I don’t remember it.

I don’t know if it’s fully hit me yet. My entire life, or for the last twenty-eight years anyway, I have always lived with the circumstance that my uncle was in prison. I don’t know if I really believed that a day would come when he would actually get out. But, now it seems that day is almost here.

It’s been such a sudden development, I started to think about what I can do to get prepared for his homecoming. What should I get my uncle for Christmas? No sooner had I entertained that thought, many more followed. What do you get a man who has been in prison since the early 1970’s?

Richard Nixon was the President when he went to prison. In the time he’s been incarcerated, eight-track and cassette tapes came and went, as did the Polaroid camera. He’s never experienced cable television, VCRs, DVD Players, compact discs, video games, computers, cell phones, or the internet, other than limited exposure in prison. He’s never sent an email.

And all those thoughts lead to other questions. What would it be like to be in my uncle Jim’s shoes? How do you get a job? How do you answer the questions about a blank resume? What kind of work can he expect to secure? I can only imagine the hardship he will soon experience.

I’ll have a lot more to say about this as the situation develops, but suffice to say this is a true new beginning for my family. –Troy