I shoot straight up in my bed and almost puke! What the bleeding hell is that smell, and on a Saturday morning? I get up and go to the bathroom, lean over the toilet and try to throw up. Nothing comes up. Huh, I would have thought the sushi I ate last night would have- Oh God! I went straight to bed last night without eating and left the raw fish on the counter. Ugh...
I leave the bathroom and open my bedroom door, which leads to the living room, and the smell gets stronger tenfold. What a pain this morning is starting to be... I quickly put the fish in a garbage bag and took it out back of my apartment building to throw it in the dumpster. After putting the bag in the dumpster I hear a noise. I turn around to see a tiny starved kitten. Without hesitation, I pick him up and rush him back to my apartment. God, it stinks in here.
I use an old blanket to make a small bed for the kitten, and run to grab some food. What do cats eat again? It's been a while... I find some cooked, cut up chicken squares in my fridge, put them in one bowl and fill the other with water. One thing I do remember is that giving a cat milk can make them sick unless it is specifically for cats. When I return to the kitten, I find it too weak to even lift its head to the bowl and I gladly end up hand feeding it the chicken.
The kitten soon falls asleep after eating and I decide to clean the house, trying to rid my home of this smell. My apartment's layout is pretty basic, you come through the door, walk up five steps immediately and come into a huge room. Directly across from the door is a wall completely made of glass windows looking out over the city. I live on the 38th floor so it is a pretty good view. When you come up the small set of stairs near the door, to your right is an open full kitchen with an island bar that is accompanied by tall bar stools. To your left is a door leading to the laundry room. Then you walk into the big room, past the kitchen and laundry room, and you are staring out the big window, on the wall to your left is a door that leads to my room. A little farther into the room, past my door, is a fireplace with a TV above it. On the opposite wall is another door leading to the spare bedroom. In the middle of the room, is a long couch and a comfortable chair on each side of it. Each of the bedrooms are rectangular rooms with a bed and desk. The bedrooms have their own personal bathrooms which is nice. The reason I chose my bedroom is because, unlike the other one, mine also has one wall made of complete glass overlooking the city. I love falling asleep looking out over the city lights.
I finished cleaning and the smell is mainly gone by now. The kitten moved once, only to pee in the makeshift litter box I made and move his napping spot to my bed. I think I might just have to keep him. I now take a good look at him, as he sleeps, and he is an all black cat with silvery tiger stripes on him. His right eye is this blood redish color and his left is yellow or gold. I can see that his canines, or fangs, were improperly removed, so he has two gaps in his teeth. If you could not guess by now, I was a vet. Or used to be something of the sort. The cat looks to be healthy other than the lack of weight at such an age and his bleeding gums where he is missing teeth, that I will have to watch to make sure they don't get infected. In the end, I know I can not just leave him at some shelter, even after he is back to full health. Cats don't last long in shelters around here, maybe a week at most? No, my apartment building is fine with pets and I am going to keep him. Which means he will need a name, right?
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I wake the next morning with a throbbing headache, and I know it is not a hangover. I go to TJ's bathroom mirror and see just what I had thought. A big, ugly black eye. Ugh, I already know today is going to be a pain. I am staying with TJ until I can figure out where I am going to stay. TJ offered for me to continue to stay with him, but I have a feeling that I will get beat up more than that is worth it. I have a job and it is a stable income, so I can easily afford an apartment.
My problem is finding a slightly bigger apartment that allows pets. I have to take care of my German Shorthaired Pointer, Damion. I write TJ a note that I am heading to the library to search for a home, knowing fairly well that I might just come back at lunch time and he will still be asleep. I put on my leather jacket, clip on Damion's leash and head out for the day.