It's official, Snickers is going away on vacation.
He's going on vacation tomorrow for two days.
He's going on vacation without me.
None of the above statements make sense when you realize we're married and should be going on vacation together but such is the life of a new business owner. Closing the club for vacation means stopping the in flow of cash but because it doesn't mean the stopping of the in flow of bills, we stay open. I will stay behind here in Cheonan and manage the club. He says me visiting Canada in October will be my vacation but I vouch that is owed to me and a mean of me paying my dues for not having seen my family and close friends for three years.
So tomorrow I will be managing the club by myself, well not solely by myself. Our prized TKO amateur boxer Kato will be doing padwork with members and one of our faithful regular Hulkies will be hanging out for the day, to help with any side tasks and visitors. Between you and me, I think he just wants to stay at the club because he is always entertained by random things that happen here and my reaction to certain members.
Must be nice to be going on vacation but it must be nicer to have two 6 pack-wearing assistants that always drop jaws with the strength of their punches and the weight they can curl.
With Snickers gone for two days this means not only will I be in charge of the club but also responsible for our four-legged friends. Pyen Chi is a very low maintenance dog and is happy if left to sleep all day. Balboa often needs to be let out into the club to run off (and jump off) some excessive energy that comes with him being a Mexican jumping bean (a Chihuahua). But Pacquiao.... oh Pacquiao. I love him to pieces but he is such a wild child, escaping from his doggie corridor every other day. It seems no matter what we do to barricade the fenced in his area, he always seems to out do us and figure a way out. I am convinced he climbs the 5ft tall metal fence, after all his father who lives with Mouse Doctor jumps an eight foot tall brick wall all the time. Pacquiao has the brains of his father and the beauty of his mother. He also has the wildness of his mother though and tonight we caught sight of that first hand when a local street kitten was injured.
I had noticed a car with some people standing around it, out by our parking lot. It was late so I couldn't see what they were looking at but it seemed strange that the car was stopped in the middle of the road. Whatever was going on with that scene it was making my four-legged friends go completely mental. That's when Pacquiao suddenly escaped. I couldn't unlock the gated fence fast enough so I bolted to the front of the club and exited the front door. Up the street Pacquioa ran so I chased after him. I used to wonder what the neighbouring shop owners thought of the sight of me, a foreign girl with crazy patterned bright clothing that looks more or less like they could be panted on, running down the street. Pacquiao escaping happens about once a week now though so I think they are used to this scene. I am not. It freaks me out every time he escapes because his dark coloured fur makes it almost impossible for drivers to see him at night and he just jets out into the street.
At the top of the street Pacquiao stopped and looked back. Upon seeing me, he then came to me. I could see something was hanging from his mouth and I thought perhaps it might be a bunny. "Pacquiao, what is this?" I said and on that note he let go of it and it fell into my hands. It was a kitten. It's eyes were wide open, legs sprawled and it was crying a bit. I didn't know what to do but cradle the poor little kitten and bring it back into the club. I tried to keep it hidden from members by keeping my hands below the juice bar counter top height but some had seen me walking with it from the side window. I called out to Snickers and we stood there quickly discussing what to do and if we could do anything. There was nothing we could do. I watched as it drew its last breath and then stopped breathing. Instantly my eyes swelled up with tears. I kissed the little kitten on the head and then we took it outside to bary it in our front garden. Later we got word that the car out back had supposedly hit it and then my dog came and snatched it away. There wasn't any blood on it but it looked to be only a couple of weeks, maybe even a month, old.
I quickly wiped my face -- I had a packed crossfit class waiting for me -- and put on new shoes. Members tried to cheer me up by teasing me over my teary eyes and the notion that I'm this tough, bada$$ boxing chic. I appreciated their jokes and attempts but couldn't shake the fact that a kitten, a life, had died in my hands.
Word of the kitten apparently got around and by the time work had finished one of my close friends had arrived at Hulk's -- Mouse Doctor. He was the one who gave me Pacquiao and I don't know whether it was because he felt partly responsible or whether he was just being a friend, but he showed up. He showed up and brought something along that he thought I'd be interested in -- a car. It wasn't just any car though, it was none other than the car that the character Tony Stark from Iron Man drove. I'm not much of a car kind of a girl, I love trucks and motorcycles, but I have to admit that was a pretty slick, smooth ride!!!
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