Trailer Trash Too

Cotton saw his family physician earlier in the week. The doc advised me that, from earmites, Cotton had a hematoma on his ear, from all the shaking of his head. He advised me that it could be lanced, but would most likely fill back up with blood. He could do surgery and repair it. We set up the appointment and I agreed to bring Cotton in, after 7:00 am, but before 9:00 am.

Cotton was supposed to fast from noon, the day before. All the cats got to fast from breakfast until the next morning. I picked up Cotton, who was very trusting. He had been slinking around, anxious, the day before. I think he heard his name mentioned on the answering machine when the lady called to remind me of the appointment.

"What's his name?" the small sleepy-eyed boy asked me.
"Cotton", I replied.
"What's your name?" he continued.
"Trailertrash", I replied.
"Mine is Gary," he stated.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"four and a half," he responded, then asked, "How old are you?"
His mother made a funny sound, but didn't say anything. I told him my correct age.
"That's my mother, her name is Leslie," he told me, as he pointed to the lady writing out the authorization-of-surgery form for me to sign.
"How old is she?" I asked.
"I don't know," he admitted.
"Almost 30," replied Leslie.
"How old is he?" asked Gary, pointing at Cotton.
"He's six," I replied.

I picked Cotton up, this morning. He's still groggy from the anesthesia. He's been slinking around, weaving. I hope it wears off, soon.