Porno-Vet

I had a clear plan of how things were going to go this morning. I was going to get up, make myself look cute, take my cat to her appointment at the vet, and the proceed with my day. The cat had a different plan.

I started off wrong, I overslept. I had to go for “presentable” instead of cute. I could still make the appointment on time except I was thwarted by claws in the Berber carpet and the cat went one direction and the carrier went the other and I found myself sitting alone in the living room with brand new pin stripes in my left shin. Fresh blood is a good look. No time to sit and bleed, must locate beast and wrestle into carrier. I found her – she’s finally located the one piece of furniture she can hide behind and I have no chance of reaching her: the washing machine. I tried to chase her out with a broom and just managed to give myself a splinter. I located the vacuum and chased her out with the hose and managed to grab her but the damage was done, I was bleeding, she was shedding, and we were late.

In the car I decided to forgive her for the war wounds she inflicted. She decided to puke in the carrier.

There I am waiting for the vet and by now “presentable” has descended into something …well…less than presentable. My hair is disheveled. My white shirt has enough fur on it to build another cat and has a smear of cat puke on the bottom of it. My leg has a claw mark from knee to ankle which has mostly ceased bleeding. And I have a cat clinging to me like Velcro.

In walks the vet. Now, I haven’t seen the regular vet in a while because they sent her to a different vet for a skin problem so this is the first time we’ve been there in a while. He’s unbelievably hot – how did I not remember this? I’ve never had a fantasy that involved a cold stainless steel table and a diagram of feline anatomy in the background but the bad 70’s porno music was already playing in my head by the time he said, “Hi.” Then I remembered that I kind of looked like a wounded homeless lady with a cat growing out of her chest. So, while I was dubbing him, “Porno-vet”, I have a feeling that instead of giving me a sexy nickname, he was probably making a mental note to tell the receptionist to make sure I pay before I leave in case I gave a false address.

I guess even if I’d looked like an adequate leading lady for Porno-Vet it would have raised eyebrows at 9:30am. I mean, a clean shirt, a leg without a flesh wound, and some makeup could have gone a long way but who knows if I’m even his type. However, if I ever run into Porno-Vet out somewhere and I don’t have a cat hanging from my chest, I’m going for it.