He's B-A-A-A-C-K! The Mongol Prince

It was touch and go for a while there.  We started last week with a lymphoma scare, that transmogrified into a cardio-myopathy scare.  This week we did the 1+ hour drive to the West Side of town AGAIN to consult with the cardiologist to determine what EXACTLY WAS ailing the Mongol Prince?  About half way to Santa Monica, (Droit du Seigneur and all that) B.B. BUSTED OUT of his carrier a la Jack Nicholson in "The Shining" - (here's Johnny!!!!!) and thankfully THANKFUL-LY! contented himself with passing the duration of the journey in the front passenger seat. (OY Sh@#$!)  It was not altogether certain that it would not be Mommy requiring the cardiologist on journey completion.

And then what a surprise.  LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT between cardiologist and cure-seeker!  "So sweet - so SOFT!  What a nice well-behaved cat!"  So he was poked, he was prodded, he was shaved, he was sounded.  And at the end of it all, for our troubles, (and a fairly significant credit card bill - but still cheaper than your accountant!)  he was given a clean bill of health.  Apparently just a guy with a lot of anomalies!  EXPENSIVE ANOMALIES!

So back in the car we two onto the Santa Monica freeway.  Somehow the triple threat of three-Doctors-with-Japanese surnames -  Sueda, Yoshimoto, Tsugawa seemed to prefigure the ultimate complexion of the day's events.  The signs were there, but did we see them?

Was it indeed inevitable that after twenty minutes on the freeway with ostensibly cat-and-Mommy soothing Mozart on the radio, Mr. B.B. decided to reprise that infamous Nicholson moment?  And why not?  It worked before!  Why NOT emerge from the dark nylon depths of the faulty cat carrier (oh why oh why, Great Sherpa Carrier - were you not more properly designed to resist the ravages of the marauding feline? - considering your not-insignificant pricetag?) and cast off the towel-on-your-head to emerge into the light - the Conquering Hero??????!

A few glorious moments astride the passenger seat, the ruler of all that you can see: CARS, CARS, CARS.  CARS. CARS. Side-saddle a-straddle the gearbox, activating the panic lights.  Satisfying but not actually scintillating. Ultimately, the Everest of errant ambition: MOMMY'S LAP!!!!!!!!!   MOMMY'S LAP!!!!  Gotta get onto Mommy's lap! (Oy S#$%! AGAIN!)  Standing, sitting, STANDING, SITTING.  (See me youse guys?)

And now PROSTRATE:  and relieving oneself on MOMMY'S LAP!!!!!!!!  (With admittedly some embarrassment and not a little satisfaction.  Counting.... FOUR plus hours away from the litterbox.  And SO TERRIBLY WELL-BEHAVED.) Meanwhile the L.A. Police Department behind us in a cruiser, half the Los Angeles municipal employee pool in the sedan alongside us ("Look Barney - that lady has a cat on her lap - is that like, well, driving while talking on a CELL PHONE?????  Ever seen THAT before?  Should she get a ticket for that?????")   While Mom channels her inner Hawaiian Japanese old lady doing 35 miles on the freeway with a fluffy animal on her lap and head barely perceptible above the steering wheel.  (That is where the 3 Japanese Doctors come in - somehow the one MUST have something to do with the other.)

It was a big day for everybody.  And at the end of it, nothing to do but catch a little shut-eye.  Mission accomplished. Apparently the Mongol Prince will not be expected to meet with ANOTHER SINGLE DOCTOR for at LEAST  a MONTH again.  YES!   Snooze-city, Arizona here we come.

We won't go into the implications - (er, Mom mean HOURS EXPENDED) of removing certain unpleasant smells from leather car upholstery before Dad identifies them, and the uneasy parallel reality of feeling oneself once again in the midst of a Seinfeld re-run.  (What IS THAT SMELL!  It WON'T GO AWAY!)

La-di-da.  La-di-da.