Now that the raging sea of hormones has past, I have been blessed with the marvelous gift of hindsight, which as you well know gives past situations a humor that was definitely lacking while you were living through them. So can I just say that I'm stinkin' hilarious when I'm moody and irrational?
So last I left off J and I were concerned about the well-being of our dearly beloved kitty, VooDoo. Tuesday we brought him in to see the vet. After looking VooDoo over, squeezing his belly, and listening to me describe in exquisite detail the specifics of his malady, the vet finally declared that VooDoo looked "fine" and that what I was describing could be anything. He said he would need to do a bit of blood work to rule out the main things (Feline Leukemia, Feline AIDS, and heartworms). We made arrangements for me to have VooDoo back in his office Thursday for a whole day of tests, blood work, and urinalysis. (My cat's still not speaking to me, but we'll get to that later.)
After depositing a very unhappy kitty at the vet's office Thursday morning, I went to work and slaved away all day ;-), not worrying too much about ol' VooDoo, until my phone rang about an hour before I was supposed to get off. It was the vet. He had called my office phone, not my cell phone. Thinking he was just calling me to say that VooDoo's results were normal, and it was just stress or depression causing him to act weird, I took the call at my desk even though our number one client was sitting right across from me with his wife and another salesperson. Big mistake.
The vet told me that VooDoo's blood work came back a little funny. He said that he does not have Leukemia, AIDS, or heartworms, but he had an extremely high white blood cell count. He said that could be one of three things: 1.) VooDoo had a bad infection that he couldn't see. 2.)VooDoo had pancreatitis. or 3.) VooDoo has tumors. In my head it was like he had whispered those first two and shouted the last option. "Tumors? Like cancer?" I asked, suddenly feeling every eye in the room bore into me. Crap! Is it too late to run into the other room? I thought. The vet explained that we could do an x-ray to see if there were any tumors and let me in on how much an x-ray would cost. I readily agreed just to get him off the phone so that I could scamper into the copy room to cry my eyes out over the now-inevitable death of my poor cancerous kitty. That's when it hit me that I had just bought enough new clothes to insure that I wouldn't have the money for the x-ray. Still sobbing and now pitifully embarrassed, I called J to ask him to pay the vet bill.
Me: *Sniffle, sniffle* "J, the v-v-vet called." *Sniffle*
J: "What did he say?"
Me(trying to be strong): "H-he said V-v-Voodoo, has-s CANCER!" cue sobs!
J: (way too calmly) "Okay, so are we putting him to sleep?"
Me: "WHAT?!? NO!!!! I need $X for the x-ray."
J: "Wait, if he's going to die, why are we spending $X on an x-ray for him?"
Me: "YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING THAT'S IMPORTANT TO ME!"
I hung up on him before realizing that I still needed the money. So I went home angry and worried and embarrassed and fuming and basically a hot mess. When I got home and caught J sitting on his butt in front of the computer, I lost it. I went off on him for not being supportive, helpful, loving or caring. I said that if he didn't give a crap about me or my cat that I'd just as well leave. That's when I realized he had been looking up information on Pet Insurance. Well, crap. It wasn't long before I eventually threw myself in the bathroom, slammed the door, and (channeling my inner teenager) screamed "I hate you" before going into a hysterical melt down on the bathroom floor. I didn't come out until he calmly told me, "The vet just called. And I transferred the money to your account."
As it turns out, the vet couldn't see any tumors on his x-ray (but that doesn't rule them out). He has VooDoo on an antibiotic regimen that the cat hates. Twice a day he has to have this thick white goo shot down the back of his throat until he starts spitting and foaming at the mouth. This has been going on for about a week now, and he's not talking to me. J on the other hand gave me a PMS pass for that day after I came up to him after the vet visit and shamefacedly apologized for calling him all those horrible things that I'm too embarrassed to type here. :*- ]
The other night, perhaps out of a sense of atonement, I made J a fabulous dinner that I found in a Paula Deen magazine (of course). The recipe for Orange-Tarragon Chicken Linguine is probably one of my top five recipes that I've tried from Paula. It's not too heavy, which is good because, ya know, butter is bad for you, but it does have enough to fill you up without feeling miserable after you eat. Oh, and it looks pretty :-)
What you need:
1 3/4 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 3)
3/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp black pepper
4 TBS butter, divided
1 shallot, minced
1/2 cup dry white wine
1/2 cup orange juice
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream
1 tsp dried tarragon
1 (16 oz) pkg linguine, cooked and kept warm
Cut chicken breasts in half crosswise. Pound to 1/4" thickness. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. In a large skillet, melt 2 TBS butter over medium hear. Add chicken breasts, in batches if necessary, and cook for 3-4 minutes per side. Remove from skillet, and keep warm. Melt remaining 2 TBS butter in skillet. Add shallot, and cook for 1 minute. Add wine, and cook for 2 minutes, scraping browned bits from bottom of skillet with a wooden spoon. Add orange juice, cream, and tarragon. Return chicken to skillet, and cook for 8-10 minutes or until sauce is slightly thickened. Slice chicken. Serve over hot cooked linguine.
Enjoy :-)
