Near Cat-astrophe

Let me set the scene for you. That's what I'm here for.

Saturday. Ted arrives back at the flat from the nightshift around 9:30 a.m. Kitty has a vet appointment at 10:20 a.m. (Why she made a Saturday morning appointment is beyond me.)

Getting Kitty to Dundas Veterinary (a 3-minute walk from the flat) means capturing Kitty, placing her in vet-supplied cardboard box with air holes, and closing the super-complicated lid. This requires twelve hands.

A-L: Ted, please help me. Kitty needs to go to the doctor.

No answer.

A-L: Ted, can you help me?

Ted: Keys. Where are keys?

A-L: Nevermind the keys. I have keys. Please help me place this flailing cat into the flimsy cardboard box (with air holes), and close the super complicated lid 'system'.

Ted is waaaay too laid back at first, and is AMAZED at how Kitty can squeeze herself out through the teeniest of tiniest spaces, many times over.

Five minutes later, and Kitty is contained. And mewing. Not meowing.

A-L: Let's go.

Ted grabs the cat in a box. I close the front door. And then shake my handbag to confirm that I have keys. This is the incorrect order of operations.

No keys. Ted, Kitty and I are now locked out of the flat. Justyna is gone hillwalking for the day. Super. Can we sit in the pub all day, with a mewing cat in a box? Ted's just back from a nightshift, and presumably doesn't want to take cat in a box on a walking tour of Edinburgh, although it is a lovely day. Friend and expert cat-sitter, Gordon, has a set of keys but is still in Morocco, I think.

So we ignore the problem at hand, and walk to the vet's office.

Vet: Oh, she's beautiful. (As Kitty pretends to be normal and loving, and allows Ted to pet her head as the vet takes her heartbeat.)

A-L: Can you tell if she's autistic or passive-aggressive by her heartbeat?

Vet: She's so affectionate.

A-L: Yes, she's always like this. Around trained professionals. Did you find a heartbeat? Because I'm convinced she's a robot of some sort.

Vet: Look at that sweet face.

A-L: That's a hologram.

Vet: She has beautiful teeth. Usually by this age they're covered in tartar.

A-L: Ted brushes them, with Justyna's toothbrush.

Vet: Well, she's very healthy. I can tell she's loved and cared for.

A-L: Yeah, that's why we brought her here in a box. Do you happen to have keys to our flat?

Vet: See you next time. Bye Kitty.

Turns out Gordon was back from Morocco, so Ted, cat in a box, and I got back in. But if he had still been away, this could have been a *really* interesting story. Justyna and Guiseppe didn't get home until 11 p.m.

Kitty now has her own set of keys.

Country Roads

Last Saturday Ted and I were homesick, so I introduced him to an old friend: John Denver. We played the Greatest Hits album. We turned the stereo waaaay up. Waaay too loud for a Saturday at 11 a.m. Ted loved it.

How is it that John Denver's music can speak to/resonate with a 33-year-old Polish man living in Scotland? And then I recalled something my friend Brad said a couple months ago, "Poland is the West Virginia of Europe." Ah, of course.

I haven't told Ted yet that John Denver is no longer with us.