a CATastrophe (thanks, frumpmama)

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.
Romans 8:28

Wednesday is my favorite day of the week. When my kids are in school, it's even better. It starts with a to-do list, it's filled in the middle with checking things off that list, and it ends with Wednesday night services, where I get to serve God in the Children's Ministry... I fall into bed every Wednesday night, exhausted but happy.

and there was this Wednesday....

It began, innocently enough, with a swarm of ants all over me, a trip to It's a Grind, and a blog post. I had a doozy of a task list, but felt confident that when I made a phone call to the vet to take my daughter's dumb cat in that the day would still be redeemed.

why do I call her stupid? well, let me back up.

exhibit A: my darling twins, preschool age~

These ladies talked us into adopting two tiny grey kittens about 5 years ago, who grew up to be these cats, Exhibits B & C

Exhibit B: Princess

Exhibit C: Sparkle

Now, about a week ago, we started smelling cat pee. EVERYWHERE. on a towel left on the floor, on a blanket, on my yoga pants. that's why we're calling the cat dumb.

Except we couldn't figure out which cat. You see, those rotten cats look an awful lot alike (see exhibits B & C)... and running away from the scene of the crime they look pretty much identical. Based on the fact that the cats had experienced UTIs a couple of years before, we decided we needed to figure out the perpetrator ASAP so we could get her to the vet. Either that or get rid of both cats which won't work because of those blue eyes (Exhibit A)

So, We watched the cats like hawks. Finally, Tuesday night, Princess was caught peeing in the middle of the rug. And that's how take Princess the vet made it to the Wednesday task list.

Okay, now we're back to the story....

So, after running a jillion errands, I grab the cardboard cat carrier and Princess and try to put her in the box. almost funny. After she got out three or four times, I finally wrangled her into the box and into my Explorer.

We get about a quarter of a mile down the road and the cat rips her way out of the box... running like crazy all around the car. She's yelling an alien-like MWARRRRROWWWRRR as she gets all the way to the way back of the car, to the front, to the middle, frantically trying to rip out of the car the way she did the box. I'm looking for a safe place to pull over, but the side of the road is full of cars, so I am about to turn down a side street, when Princess flies from the back seat onto the dash, right into my line of sight.

I very carefully turn the car, which sends the cat under my feet and me into absolute, sheer terror as I try to maneuver a stunt-turn into the one parking spot on the street and fish the cat out. She went limp as I put her into the box, and after I was sure she was breathing, I fashioned the box back together with some painter's blue masking tape and continued to the vet, shaking and breathless.

So, we get to the vet: me carrying a ripped up blue-taped box and Princess screaming for her right to an attorney. Of course there's the customary four million pages of paperwork to fill out as I hold the box together and Princess howls that she's not been read her Miranda Rights. Finally, we get some pity, a loaner cat carrier, and then they show us to her exam room.

Princess would tell you the temperature taking was the worst, but the most humiliating part for me was when I glanced in the mirror to see my hair sticking up like Phyllis Diller, my mascara sweating down my face, and my once-black Old Navy Perfect Fit V Neck Tee covered in fur. it's all about perspective, really.

Anyway, after probing and questioning, the vet gets the cat to pee on the table (very cool trick, btw), does a urinalysis to find out that.... oh, what?

yeah.

we have the WRONG CAT.

to quote a very clever chick...

have a nice day.