The Blog Formerly Known As Practical Paralegalism
Who took her cat to the vet in a cloth recycle bag.
Cut me some slack. It’s been 20 years since I’ve been owned by a cat.
Long story short, while The Teen was still in the hospital this afternoon (they abruptly ejected her about two hours ago, and while she’s glad to be home, she’s still in pain and subdued), I had to make an emergency vet appointment for Sasha Jane, the blogger swap cat I share with Megan. Don’t worry, the kitteh is fine.
I planned to get off work in plenty of time to find the small pet carrier I knew we own. Only a client came by at the last minute, and I got home with just enough time to discover we do not in fact own a small pet carrier. In fact, we don’t even have a plain cardboard box. (Because they are all in my car, packaged up with gifts for blogger buddies I have not had time to mail.)
I knew I couldn’t take a cat into the waiting room loose, because this must be a recurring problem for the vet. They made it clear when I made the appointment to only bring in contained cats. Gotcha.
In a panic, I spied the pink recycle bag I got as part of my swag from a Susan Komen run a few years back. Sasha loves to play in it, and thought we were playing again when I lured her into it. She wailed her betrayal all the way to the vet, even though I let her out of the bag as soon as I got her in the car. I stuffed her back in the bag when I got there, and then I was that woman, standing at the reception desk, using both hands to clutch my bag closed at the top, with a quiet, bewildered, betrayed cat inside.
They offered to sell me a cardboard box for the ride home, but the sweet vet tech quietly whispered I could get a real cat carrier for less at Walmart.
Got any “I’m THAT woman (or man)” stories to share? I sure would feel less ridiculous.