A Tale of Two Texts/ posted in: Pets, Work
The man I work for likes to leave notes around the office about offenses real and imagined. They range from funny to really nasty. Because of a scheduling change we won’t be working at the same office anymore. I mentioned this morning that I won’t be getting notes anymore. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.
I sent him a text this morning to update him on a dog that may need surgery tomorrow. I asked for cost quote because I said the owners didn’t have a lot of money so that was going to be a factor. His response was, “450, MedVet or euth”
Translation- “$450 for surgery here or send it to the referral hospital or euthanize it” I thought was a bit brusque but he’s snippy because he is opening a new clinic next week. Whatever.
He must have thought he was snippy too. A half hour later I get a text about how he didn’t get paid for his last surgery like this. That wasn’t a normal situation but we worked out a plan for this dog.
The bossman appeared a bit later to take pictures of the exterior for a new brochure. No one saw him come in the building but there was a note on my desk.
“FB dog should have an IV. Xxoo” Translation- Do your %$# job
I texted him back. “FB dog had iv until he got it out this morning. Xxoo” Translation- You’d know this if you read the chart. Kiss my butt.
He must have understood the implied comment because he replied. “He wants a pretty new one to be ready for his surgery tomorrow”
Me: “I will make him a brand new special one.”
A bit later from him: “I hope his pancreas isn’t mad.” Translation – I really don’t want to do this surgery and am grasping at straws to find a reason to call it off.
I texted back the normal pancreas bloodwork results. Translation – You’d know this if you read the chart.
In the meantime I’m fielding this text from the SO. “Dumbkoff kitty got out.”
He’s home today getting a new exterior door installed. I said that when they got there to lock up Riley in the basement so he couldn’t get out. I told Z that under no circumstances was Riley to get outside. Now I’m getting a text that seems to imply that Riley magically grew thumbs and learned to work a lock.
Me: “Are you telling me that you are slower than a crippled cat?”
The SO: “@&?#!” That’s an exact quote.
He better have found my cat by the time I get home. I’m worried that he is too slow to get out of the way of cars and/or that someone will see the poor hurt kitty wandering the streets and pick him up. He has an ID tag and a microchip but someone will think that his horrible owners just don’t take care of him.