Last Friday afternoon our cat Esther had a vet appointment.  Just the usual annual exam, updating of shots, and the always fun fecal test.  Sounds easy enough.  Easy, but not fun gathering the poo-poo to carry into the vets office in a SEE-THRU zip loc bag.  why I have a problem with that, I dunno… maybe I feel bad for her because I’m exposing her personal excrement to a waiting room full of people, only to place it in a kidney shaped puke bowl on the counter after the receptionist asks, and rather loudly I might add, “did you bring a fecal sample?”.  It’s as if I’m announcing “HERE’S ESTHER’S POO!”.

Anyway, I’m obviously digressing if I’ve taken the subject down to cat poop.

Esther has a sixth sense. She sees veterinarian people. Even before they see her.

I know she reads my mind, after all, she IS a girl and has female intuition, which more often that not, IS SO RIGHT, don’t you agree??

I tried so hard not to do any of the usual things that would make her run to play hide and go seek:

I didn’t get my purse ready, didn’t even LOOK at it.

I didn’t put my flip flops on, didn’t even take them OUT OF THE CLOSET.

I didn’t get her crate out, which is a definite NO-NO. I didn’t even go near the closet it’s in.

I didn’t ask her if she wanted a treat at the same time I’m getting her toy out.  She knows I’m such a fake with that.

I tried to act as normal as I could. I couldn’t think about her appt ‘cause SHE READS MY MIND, YALL!  When I knew I had to start getting her ready, I gave myself an extra 15 minutes, you know, just in case I’d have problems getting her.

It was time to get serious and she was NO WHERE to be found.  I did the obligatory “Esther want a treat?” while I went to get her favorite toy to see if she wanted to come out and play.  She still knew I was a fake. But hey, you never know when it might work. 

Nothing.

I went upstairs to look under our king-sized bed, her usual hang out on days like this.  There she was, surrounded by my books and tote bags, looking at me with I-know-what-you’re-up-to eyes, crouched in that farthest, unreachable black hole of a spot.  Ugh. I’m doomed….

Wait! I have a GREAT idea! I’m going to vacuum our room so I can flush her out. Yeah! I’ll actually be on time for her appointment, maybe even EARLY! (Won’t they be surprised?!?  I’m a habitual 5 minutes late person to just about EVERYTHING, even though I really try and I don’t mean to be…. I guess that’s another blog for another day). I lug the vacuum cleaner upstairs and start vacuuming.

Nothing.

I really thought that would work since she’s usually deathly afraid of the Dyson.  Either that or she’s a typical “child” and wants to be as far from housework as possible. Wait!  I have ANOTHER great idea!  WHILE I’m vacuuming, I’ll turn on the tv to a rock n’ rollin’ music channel and BLAST it! Yeah! Maybe I’ll still have a chance to be early to her appt! SWEET!

Nothing.

I didn’t know this, but Esther must really like Bon Jovi.  She didn’t move even one kitty muscle. Great, now I’ll have to resort to my last resort. So there I am, laying my body and the side of my face on the floor next to our bed (which by the way is a sleigh bed with not much arm room between it and the floor), poking a broom at my cat, with my tennis elbow arm, and my pinned up hair coming out of my bobbie pins.  First I swing the broom back and forth in front of her to get her to move.  Well, she moved. Farther away, if that’s even possible. I’ll have to move my arm even farther under the bed to try to reach her. By now my shoulder is halfway under the bed and I’ve gone from swinging the broom to poking at her with it.  All she does is growl and hiss, then paw at it like a bug. Now I’m really swinging and poking at her. Most of my books have made it out from under the bed, with pages bent, covers coming undone and my arm is killing me. 

Nothing.

Now I’m flustered! She’s getting the works. I turn on the Dyson, blast the music, swing and poke with the broom, and yell with my highest pitched infadel voice “LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!”.  This goes on for, oh, I dunno, AN ETERNITY.  Now there’s no way I’ll be early. I won’t be even on time. I’ll be late.  And not just 5 minutes late. So late in fact, that now I have to call and cancel.

I waved the white flag.

Things I’ve learned from my cat:

·      don’t fix your hair before trying to flush your cat out from under the bed

·      don’t wear black-carpet fuzz multiplies

·      don’t let your cat make you resort to housework

·      don’t think your smarter than your cat