Thursday, May 6, 2010

CSI: My Morning

The first thing that hit me when I unlocked the door was the powerful smell.
Suspicious. Sickly sweet.
Stepping carefully around scattered papers, I spotted an open accordion file propped precariously on the seat of a recliner. A folder marked “Cowbee and Miss Keeeee” was empty.
The phone book was fanned out on the floor, open at the “Vacuum – Washing” pages. Upon investigation, the word “Tina” was scribbled on the right hand page.
The computer was sleeping.
I set my carrier down carefully, sensitive to the vibes of déjà vu penetrating the place.
Carrying my bag, I followed the smell into the next room. It was a shambles. Suitcases and boxes tossed on top of each other and leaning against the wall. White excelsior pellets littering the floor. A broken umbrella on the bed in a jumble of red and yellow. The file cabinet wide open, a table askew next to it.
The tile floor by the kitchen wall was wet and littered with the glittering evidence: green glass. One large piece said “Mad Dogs and Englishmen,” which explained the stink. White wine. Specifically: chardonnay.
It could have been worse.
I spotted an empty hole among the stacked storage items along the wall to the left
I moved toward it, careful to avoid the wet tile by stepping on the carpet. Suddenly, I felt something cold and wet soak my stockinged left foot.
That was when it all began flooding back. Spraying that very spot to clean up Miss Kitty’s vomitus this morning. Her second day of not keeping anything down. The panicked search for a veterinarian . The instant appointment – yikes, it’s that serious! Scrambling through storage to get the cat carrier. Grabbing the stupid umbrella my granddaughter bent out of shape the last time she stayed over. Jamming it on top of the refrigerator. Yanking a suitcase from the stack. Blinking hard to clear teary vision. Upsetting the bag of excelsior. Knocking hats off their pile. Seeing the umbrella fall out of the corner of my eye. Hearing the crash/tinkle of glass smashing. Ignoring it. Tossing cases and boxes toward the bed. Hauling the cat carrier out.
Getting Miss Kitty into it. Heading out the door. Setting her down to race back to get her papers. Searching the accordion file for her “I’ve Been Adopted!” envelope that wasn’t there. Dumping the file. Shoving the table out of the way and yanking the file cabinet open. Finding the envelope. Racing out the door to grab the carrier. Trying not to speed on the way to the vet.
Where she was diagnosed with  Bolus Gigantus Syndrome, also known as a Giant Hairball.
And it only cost $158.
Plus a bottle of wine.