The Thinking Minority

On Monday, Mrs B. took the evil cat, Monet, to the vet. Monet has been letting herself go (around the house) recently (aren't we all) and she's got this eye thing...let's just say that we're terrible pet owners. That vet trip is another story. As a gesture of my love and affection for my wife and my desire to not step in cat poo, I offered to take the evil cat to her follow up appointment.

Despite great resistance, Maggie loaded the cat into the carrier. We put the cat in the car and I performed my usual carpooling ritual - except I wasn't headed to work, I was taking a strangely quiet Monet to the vet. About half-way there, Monet began scratching the carrier walls. Anyone who knows me would see this as a cause of great concern for me because I hate poo (yes, I know that everybody poops). However, I smelled no poo and that made me happy.

Upon arriving at the vet's office, we were placed in an exam room where I could let Monet frolic and scent things. When I opened the carrier door, Monet walked out cautiously. As she exited, her tail began to shake forcefully, throwing some sort of liquid onto my face...she hadn't pooped after all.

Surprisingly, I didn't freak out. I was concerned about what had just happened to me, but more concerned with they way she was tracking it all over exam room. I felt pretty terrible when the assistant had to mop the floor and clean out the carrier. When we left the exam room (we'll have to return next week), there were many cats waiting in the lobby with their humans.

R. Kitty began to meow so I knelt down to pet her through the cage. She wouldn't come near me. I looked at the woman next to me, an acquaintance (who probably didn't realize that we'd met before), and said, "I am not her person." I'm not. I'm also not the person that will be driving her to the vet next week (not by myself). At least she didn't poop on the way home.