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The Cat’s revenge

January 21, 2009

At intervals unspecified to humans, cats all over the world devise plots to wreak revenge on humans for past grievances that remain embedded in the collective cat consciousness.

Today was such a day, and my Cat was in on it.

He blames me for the terror he encountered last night, when he forced his way into the closet in my study. Once he was in the closet, something terrified him, something huge and terrible. He was terrified and trapped, unable to find his way back out through the sliding doors. My study closet happens to be where we keep his cat carrier. He reported the incident to the collective.

A friend was coming over for breakfast this morning, and I thought to embellish the occasion by vacuuming up some kitty litter that the Cat had tracked into the dining room. But I had to settle for the litter, because the Cat had jostled the vacuum in its charger, and it was not charged.

I tried to sweep up some litter in the bathroom near the Cat’s litter box, and found the floor mysteriously wet. My olfactory nerves immediately solved the mystery. The Cat’s arthritis was acting up. He overshot his box.

After a pleasant visit with my friend, I ran a few errands.

At my bank, I encountered a complete dumb-out while trying to make an IRA deposit. The teller was initially unwilling to deposit anything in my IRA. Apparently an interview was required.

“Do you work?”

“I don’t have to work. I have a husband who works and we file a joint return.”

The teller and two supervisors hovered together, examining files and manuals. I felt a migraine hatching. I called my husband, who is a tax lawyer, who had the answer they were evidently searching for, but they “had taken the class,” they had their jobs to do, and they at long last agreed with him, at least tentatively. Odd, I thought, that I would go through less of an interview from the overly chatty cashier at Trader Joe’s than at my own bank.

The pharmacy was next, my first trip since our insurance plan was converted to an HSA and we were made to live like pay-till-you-drop Americans. I assumed every prescription would at least apply to my deductible. But not anymore. The new plan will apply glucose testing strips to my deductible, but not the lancets necessary to obtain the blood sample the test strips test. That’s fine: I can buy them over the counter, or hire the Cat to puncture my finger. It’s the complete absence of logic that offends me.

The migraine was blooming. I needed to get home.

Home at last, I went into the bedroom to stow my prescriptions. But the war was not over. On the bedroom floor, en route to the nightstand, the Cat had thrown up.


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