My Review of Howard Hanna

I patiently listen as the emergency vet describes what sounds alarmingly like penis enlargement surgery. We recently caught our markedly obese cat, Hector, howling like a wolf and pissing on the carpet, and now this is the second time I am at MedVet with him. Last time, we were prescribed a catheter and an overnight stay ($1,200), but now the vet says the recurrence means Hector needs surgical intervention ($7,000). This is a common issue in male cats due to the shape of their urethra; it is bendy. They would cut him open and reshape his urethra to resemble that of a female urethra, which is more or less straight, and enlarge the opening (i.e., his penis). I am unsure if this constitutes gender reassignment surgery to transition to a female urethra, or genitalia enlargement to make his penis bigger. These seem conceptually at odds. I briefly consider euthanasia, but a flurry of memories invade my frontal lobe causing me to make questionable financial decisions. I will go to extreme lengths for relief, and I know my three-year-old daughter will be devastated if Hector suddenly disappears overnight. Empathy finds me and my wallet in a moment of vulnerability.

Two days after the surgery, five tornadoes rip through the Cleveland area, leaving our home in even worse shape than the cat. A tree branch the size of a tractor-trailer lands on our house and tears part of our roof off. This particular storm marked what many said was the worst power outage in the region in recent history. Cleveland Public Power fastidiously sent an unmarked man in an unmarked vehicle to sever a live wire, duct taping it to a tree out front, stranding us alone in the dark to later discover the only tool he used was left on our porch. State Farm relocated us to a Residence Inn tucked away in the industrial park of Independence Ohio, leaving Dirk Diggler, our markedly obese cat, splayed out on our upstairs carpet in the August heat, inebriated on pain medication. For three weeks, we commuted to the wreckage twice a day to check his pulse, change his litter, and gawk at his newly linear urethra. He improved, we got a roof and a deck, things stabilized. And still, Hector pissed on the carpet. Not out of need, it seemed, but ritual. A religious rite. Or a show of dominance with his newly found Big Dick Energy. As though to say, You may have given me a $10,000 new urethra, but I still run this house. Maybe leaving him largely unattended, left to his own devices and his own now larger and less bendy “device,” was not wise. “The smell of kitty was also pretty strong upstairs.”

We had also been casually looking at houses for over a year. Suddenly, a house came on the market that was perfect for us. We toured it and, after spending 15 minutes inside, put an offer in. We started out low but came out high, both on price and on dopamine-driven consumerism. Two short weeks later, we had keys, a house on the market, and new routines.

Once the furniture was out of our old house, the severity of Hector’s urination set into reality. It also, unfortunately, had set into the carpet. A relatively low priced home in a desirable neighborhood, we received a high volume of traffic. Feedback was largely mixed, ranging from “totally turned off by the cat smell that you could smell as soon as you took a couple steps up the stairs towards the second floor” to “FYI. All carpet smelled from foot of the steps. Should probably remove all carpet. Smell could’ve saturated the floor beneath.” We briefly considered staging the home, both to show the strange layout was livable and to bounce some of the urine fumes around and dilute the scent, but didn’t want to go through the trouble. “Animal smell turned buyers off. Very unique home.” Luckily our realtor understood the assignment, and reassured us that we just needed to wait for the right buyer. We only needed one.

Weeks go by, with traffic at a consistent pace but offers largely nonexistent. “Between us, I did notice the cat odor when entering the front door and going up the steps to the 2nd floor. If they noticed, they didn’t say anything. Did you get the quotes for a full carpet replacement?” Moving to our new home, with wood floors, felt like we escaped our whiz-soaked problems. But it continued to haunt us. “We also notice a strong cat odor by the stairwell. I would recommend having it professionally treated.” Now, instead of staying at the Residence Inn in Independence and popping in to check on Hector’s unit, we were staying at our new house with Long John Whiskers himself, stopping over at our old house after work to scrub the carpet clean. “He immediately mentioned the cat odor when entering the house and then a few more times after that. I suggested a carpet replacement most likely would resolve the matter.“ No matter how hard we tried to run from our problems, they always found us, one way or another. “Btw, there was a small snake in the basement.”

One spring day, a call comes in. An offer. Below asking, but close. An hour passes and yet another offer, at asking. My partner and I are overwhelmed with disbelief. Our realtor says to wait; there is a THIRD offer he anticipates. Six hours later, an offer over asking comes in. How did three offers hit us in one day, after months of feedback about the “strong odor upstairs that appears to be cat urine.” Turns out three are better than one.

A month later, the paperwork was complete; the home under contract. Hours after signing the paperwork, after nearly six months in our beautiful, carpet-less home, Hector decides for the first time to unleash his bladder directly onto the wood floors in our kitchen, filling our new abode with the nostalgic odor of our last. He was promptly relocated and redefined as ‘outdoor cat.’ He adjusted, we got a good Swiffer mop, things stabilized. And still, two months later, on a calm and sunny morning, yet again, a tree branch the size of a tractor-trailer fell on our new house.
New house. New urethra. New year. Three changes are better than one. And yet still, we are still plagued with the same old problems. Like Dirk Diggler said in Boogie Nights, “I’ve been around this block twice now. Looking for something. A clue. I’ve been looking for clues and something led me back here. Yeah. So here I am.” Sometimes, no matter how many changes you make, no matter how far you go or how much you look, you’re still followed by the ammonia tinged smell of the life you just left behind.

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