My desk currently looks like junkies live here. I have eight thin syringes of a drug that is apparently used as an alternative to methodone for recovering heroin addicts. The syringes are not for me, however. They are for Mrs. Stein. Poor Mrs. Stein has looked listless the last few days. Then on Thursday she suddenly stopped eating, only I didn�t notice this until Friday night when I went down to the laundry room to check her food. And she started drooling so profusely, that I at first was concerned that she might have swallowed something poisonous. She lay on the floor with her tongue sticking out, looking very sad.

So yesterday morning, we shoved her into her cage, which she hardly protested, and hauled her to the vet where it was determined that all six of her remaining teeth are decaying and abcessed. Hence the syringes. And also a red vial of antibiotic pills, to be administered with a device that shoots the pill into the back of her throat. And some special food, the feline equivalent of Ensure. And then there�s her surgery, complete with general anesthesia, scheduled for this Tuesday, to remove the remainder of her teeth. Followed by another bunch of drugs. I�m starting to understand why pet insurance exists.

I was relieved, though, to find it was only her teeth, a relatively common and easily remedied problem. After the loss of Getty the fish last week, I really wasn�t prepared for any more pet tragedies. Still, Mrs. Stein, being a former stray, is of an indeterminate age over 12. The issue will need to be confronted sooner or later. But hopefully much later.

Meanwhile, I�m kind of looking forward to the garbage can full of syringes. Perhaps I�ll at least have an idea of the aesthetic possibilities of living a dissolute life. Or at least I�ll get to shock the trash man.

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