Sometimes I ask myself: How much "stupidity" can actually fit into a single sunny afternoon? If you're looking for an answer today — I've got one for you. Complete with new furniture, a sled dog rescue mission in the back of my head, and a full-blown diplomatic incident with the neighbors.
Actually, it all started so well. After three weeks of delays, the new dining chairs finally arrived. While the installers were screwing them together, the front door was wide open, the garden door too — we'd banished the old chairs to the garden shed (you never know when you might invite a football team over for dinner). In short: there was a constant flow of traffic. Michael and I thought to ourselves: "Before we spend tonight at the community center listening to music, singing, and lectures about Greenland, let's grab half an hour of sunshine."
We'd barely walked a few meters when fate strikes. First, a cat darts into the hedge, and right behind it: Boudelair! Our tomcat. Far from home.
Of course, I went straight into "worried cat mom mode": gave him a proper scolding (you have to set boundaries, after all), whereupon he looked at me quite deflated. But then the shock: A tooth was sticking out at an angle! Really bent outward, sharp and all. Panic set in. "Not the vet again!", I thought to myself, as I scooped up the (supposed) problem child.
Boudelair wasn't exactly thrilled with the rescue operation. He wanted down, I hauled him back up. He wanted to go back, Michael grabbed him. Result: Michael is now thoroughly scratched and I have a (gentle, but definitely noticeable) bite mark on my thumb.
Eventually, we gave up. The cat sat sulking in the grass, we trudged home frustrated. I could already picture us at the emergency vet first thing tomorrow morning.
While we were thus cursing and scratched, trying to coax the "invalid" cat therapeutically toward the front door, it dawned on me: We're not alone here. I don't even want to think about what the neighbors must have thought behind their curtains.
Once home, I sit down on the bench in the dining room, pull out my phone, and ask "Doctor Google" in a panic: "Cat tooth crooked — do I need to die or just my bank account?"
And while I'm typing away, it happens: First, Beppo, our firstborn, strolls past me, relaxed as anything. And right behind him... Boudelair. The real Boudelair. With a perfect set of teeth and an expression that said: "What are you staring at? Is something wrong?"
I almost threw the phone at the wall. We seriously tried to kidnap a complete stranger cat. We dragged him along, hauled him away, and gave him a false medical diagnosis.
Somewhere out there, a cat with a crooked tooth is now telling his buddies: "Guys, you won't believe me, but this afternoon I got abducted by two lunatics who kept wanting to examine my tooth!"
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. In the end, it was a hysterical mix of both. The new chairs are actually quite comfortable, even if my thumb is still throbbing a bit.
Lesson of the day: Look first, then nab.
And: Apparently you can be just as stupid as you want, as long as it makes a good story in the end!
