Day from hell.
I usually find something positive in everything, but I think this day will have to remain "hellish day from A - Z".
I think we all have a relative who's a bit odd. My uncle has been very odd all his life, and this caused him many problems. Not all of them were his fault; he lived at the wrong time and the wrong place (he was gay, but married "to keep up appearances" and of course this went down the drain.)
He worked as a "Red Cap" in Vancouver in the late 50s, early 60s, travelled all over the USA and is the only one of his generation in our family who has really seen the world. He had many issues; he was a "messy", a packrat, with his flat, attic and cellar overflowing with things. He just couldn't give anything away. But I liked him, we got along well and he was the last surviving sibling of my late mother.
As I said, he was an odd fish, and the older he got, the weirder things got. He used to disappear for weeks, travelling around, without telling anybody. For example we've been searching for him last year, thinking something had happened, and one fine day, I found a card from Canada in my mailbox. So it wasn't easy to keep track of him. I've last seen him around Christmas, and he didn't look well. I told him to see a doctor, and my father insisted as well that he should seek medical help, but of course my uncle knew better (he always did. No matter the matter.)
However, he had promised my father that he'd call every second day or send a text message, just to let us know that he's fine. No message would end in a visit from my dad, and it worked quite well. Once he didn't pick up the phone for a week and refused to open the door, and only when my dad threatened him with the police he finally opened the door, saying he had been "sorting things out".
In January, the text messages stopped. My dad called again and again, and when the phone wasn't picked up, he and a friend went to my uncle's flat, knocking on the door. No answer, all curtains drawn. My dad had a bad feeling about this - you know, one of those gut-feelings - and called the janitors, asking them to check on my uncle (the janitors have keys to all flats). They weren't overly enthusiastic, but when my dad told them he'd call the police, they promised to check on my uncle and call back.
No phone call arrived, so two days later, my dad called again, and they told him all was fine, my uncle had left a note in his mailbox that he was on holidays. As I said before, that wasn't unusual, though he never left notes, but for my father and his friend, things were fine.
When there was still no sign of my uncle two weeks later, no text message and no phone call answered, my dad had enough and called the police. They went to the flat and broke the door, and well, let's say it's a good thing my dad used to be a funeral director and has seen it all. The place was alive. My uncle had obviously been dead FOR WEEKS. My dad had problems identifying him, because there wasn't much left to be identified. I think in the end they used the dentures for identification.
So far, so bad. But now comes the best bit: THERE HAS NEVER BEEN A NOTE. NO "I'M ON HOLIDAYS" NOTE. MY UNCLE DIDN'T LEAVE A NOTE. THE JANITORS SIMPLY *FORGOT* TO CHECK ON HIM AND TRIED TO WEASLE THEIR WAY OUT! What a bunch of bastards. The autopsy showed that he must have had a heart-attack and died immediately. It's comforting to know he didn't have to suffer, but what if he hadn't been dead right away? I'd called that manslaughter. Incredible, absolutely indcredible.
But wait, it gets better. The funeral was in January, and my uncle, unlike the rest of the family, had always made it very clear that three things were important to him: a) interment, not cremation, b) a lovely headstone and c) the family attending his funeral. And when did I learn about his death? Today during lunch with my father...
Folks, I've talked to my father several times on the phone these last weeks. Not once - NOT ONCE! - he mentioned that my uncle died. Nor did my dear sister, who had volounteered to call people. Every last fucking former neighbour has been informed, but not me. Oh yes, my dad was surprised that I didn't attend the funeral, but do you think he'd said a thing? How about "hey, you weren't at the funeral, anything wrong?" NOTHING. Not a word. No call, no card, nothing. I missed my uncle's funeral, and only now, about six weeks after his death, I learn about his death for the first time!
I was close to throw my lunch at my dad. If at least he'd said "I'm so sorry, I forgot" - but noooo... "are you sure you didn't know? I thought I'd called you... how odd, I'm very sure I've called..." no dad, you haven't. You haven't called me, you haven't called Miss C., and you sure as hell didn't send me a card.
I can't tell you how furious and hurt I was. I'll go to the graveyard on Saturday and put some flowers on his grave, and I'll try NOT to curse and swear (though he'd probably share my sentiments on that matter!)
And when I arrived home, I found the invoice of my vet in the mailbox...
There were the costs for putting Paddy down. Then there were the costs for "cremation at the veterinary office".
Veterinary office?!?
I called the vet and asked what the hell that was supposed to mean. There were many hmmms and aaaahs and the promise to call back. Ten minutes later my vet was on the phone. Oh, hm, yes, sorry, missunderstanding, you said cremation as usual so I've sent Paddy to the VO.
Roadkill, poisoned pidgeons and "animal remains" from various vets are sent to the VO. It's a bit unusual that a pet gets sent there after death; people usually ask to have them cremated at the animal crematorium. You can chose between "group cremation" (with other cats, other dogs etc.) or "individual cremation". If you choose the later, you get the urn back.
OK - I know our vet for 15 years. Never, in all those years, any of us, neither me nor Miss C. nor ANY of our friends have sent their dead cats and dogs to the VO. Never. Some chose group cremation, but most of them asked for an individual cremation. And this idiot sends my Paddy to the VO... and just to make that clear, I told him when he was here that I wanted an individual cremation! It's not like I didn't make it clear or anything! No wonder I still didn't get the urn back - Paddy ended up at the incinerator. There were some apologies, topped by "... but that's not really so terrible" - yes, not for you, BUT FOR ME!
So all I have left of my ginger boy is a bit of his fur in the lovely little box Miss Zim has sent me. And a splitting headache as well as lots of hate for family, vet and world in general.
>:,-(
I think we all have a relative who's a bit odd. My uncle has been very odd all his life, and this caused him many problems. Not all of them were his fault; he lived at the wrong time and the wrong place (he was gay, but married "to keep up appearances" and of course this went down the drain.)
He worked as a "Red Cap" in Vancouver in the late 50s, early 60s, travelled all over the USA and is the only one of his generation in our family who has really seen the world. He had many issues; he was a "messy", a packrat, with his flat, attic and cellar overflowing with things. He just couldn't give anything away. But I liked him, we got along well and he was the last surviving sibling of my late mother.
As I said, he was an odd fish, and the older he got, the weirder things got. He used to disappear for weeks, travelling around, without telling anybody. For example we've been searching for him last year, thinking something had happened, and one fine day, I found a card from Canada in my mailbox. So it wasn't easy to keep track of him. I've last seen him around Christmas, and he didn't look well. I told him to see a doctor, and my father insisted as well that he should seek medical help, but of course my uncle knew better (he always did. No matter the matter.)
However, he had promised my father that he'd call every second day or send a text message, just to let us know that he's fine. No message would end in a visit from my dad, and it worked quite well. Once he didn't pick up the phone for a week and refused to open the door, and only when my dad threatened him with the police he finally opened the door, saying he had been "sorting things out".
In January, the text messages stopped. My dad called again and again, and when the phone wasn't picked up, he and a friend went to my uncle's flat, knocking on the door. No answer, all curtains drawn. My dad had a bad feeling about this - you know, one of those gut-feelings - and called the janitors, asking them to check on my uncle (the janitors have keys to all flats). They weren't overly enthusiastic, but when my dad told them he'd call the police, they promised to check on my uncle and call back.
No phone call arrived, so two days later, my dad called again, and they told him all was fine, my uncle had left a note in his mailbox that he was on holidays. As I said before, that wasn't unusual, though he never left notes, but for my father and his friend, things were fine.
When there was still no sign of my uncle two weeks later, no text message and no phone call answered, my dad had enough and called the police. They went to the flat and broke the door, and well, let's say it's a good thing my dad used to be a funeral director and has seen it all. The place was alive. My uncle had obviously been dead FOR WEEKS. My dad had problems identifying him, because there wasn't much left to be identified. I think in the end they used the dentures for identification.
So far, so bad. But now comes the best bit: THERE HAS NEVER BEEN A NOTE. NO "I'M ON HOLIDAYS" NOTE. MY UNCLE DIDN'T LEAVE A NOTE. THE JANITORS SIMPLY *FORGOT* TO CHECK ON HIM AND TRIED TO WEASLE THEIR WAY OUT! What a bunch of bastards. The autopsy showed that he must have had a heart-attack and died immediately. It's comforting to know he didn't have to suffer, but what if he hadn't been dead right away? I'd called that manslaughter. Incredible, absolutely indcredible.
But wait, it gets better. The funeral was in January, and my uncle, unlike the rest of the family, had always made it very clear that three things were important to him: a) interment, not cremation, b) a lovely headstone and c) the family attending his funeral. And when did I learn about his death? Today during lunch with my father...
Folks, I've talked to my father several times on the phone these last weeks. Not once - NOT ONCE! - he mentioned that my uncle died. Nor did my dear sister, who had volounteered to call people. Every last fucking former neighbour has been informed, but not me. Oh yes, my dad was surprised that I didn't attend the funeral, but do you think he'd said a thing? How about "hey, you weren't at the funeral, anything wrong?" NOTHING. Not a word. No call, no card, nothing. I missed my uncle's funeral, and only now, about six weeks after his death, I learn about his death for the first time!
I was close to throw my lunch at my dad. If at least he'd said "I'm so sorry, I forgot" - but noooo... "are you sure you didn't know? I thought I'd called you... how odd, I'm very sure I've called..." no dad, you haven't. You haven't called me, you haven't called Miss C., and you sure as hell didn't send me a card.
I can't tell you how furious and hurt I was. I'll go to the graveyard on Saturday and put some flowers on his grave, and I'll try NOT to curse and swear (though he'd probably share my sentiments on that matter!)
And when I arrived home, I found the invoice of my vet in the mailbox...
There were the costs for putting Paddy down. Then there were the costs for "cremation at the veterinary office".
Veterinary office?!?
I called the vet and asked what the hell that was supposed to mean. There were many hmmms and aaaahs and the promise to call back. Ten minutes later my vet was on the phone. Oh, hm, yes, sorry, missunderstanding, you said cremation as usual so I've sent Paddy to the VO.
Roadkill, poisoned pidgeons and "animal remains" from various vets are sent to the VO. It's a bit unusual that a pet gets sent there after death; people usually ask to have them cremated at the animal crematorium. You can chose between "group cremation" (with other cats, other dogs etc.) or "individual cremation". If you choose the later, you get the urn back.
OK - I know our vet for 15 years. Never, in all those years, any of us, neither me nor Miss C. nor ANY of our friends have sent their dead cats and dogs to the VO. Never. Some chose group cremation, but most of them asked for an individual cremation. And this idiot sends my Paddy to the VO... and just to make that clear, I told him when he was here that I wanted an individual cremation! It's not like I didn't make it clear or anything! No wonder I still didn't get the urn back - Paddy ended up at the incinerator. There were some apologies, topped by "... but that's not really so terrible" - yes, not for you, BUT FOR ME!
So all I have left of my ginger boy is a bit of his fur in the lovely little box Miss Zim has sent me. And a splitting headache as well as lots of hate for family, vet and world in general.
>:,-(