In 500... (or less)

If You Want Something Done Right...

I trudged to the kitchen, barely able to see. My body had arisen five minutes ago, my eyes were lagging behind.

By this point in my life, I could go on auto-pilot to the kitchen. I would plod toward the coffee pot like a slow-moving guided missile. My hands would act on their own, arranging the mug, stirring in the creamer and bringing the wonderful liquid of life to my lips without the slightest prompting from my brain.

Today was no different. I groaned as I turned from the coffee pot and saw the pink list attached to the refrigerator by a magnet.

"What's she want done this time?" I said, defeated. Ignoring the list was not an option. My best bet was to prioritize it from the least amount of effort to the most, then take my time, hoping I wouldn't get all of the tasks finished.

"Take the cat to the vet to get him fixed." That seemed like an easy one. She had already made the appointment, all I had to do was drop off the poor guy, then pick him up later.

From the word go things didn't go as planned. The carrier wasn't in the last place I remembered seeing it. I scurried around the house, up to the attic, into the basement, then out to the garage. Stupid thing wasn't anywhere to be seen. I had to text my wife.

"Right where you left it," was the snarky reply. I looked in the basement again, thinking that's where I had left it. Another text.

"Oh yeah, I put it in the shed when I was reorganizing things last week." It was a small victory that I savored. I enjoyed when the wife had to admit I wasn't the reason something wasn't where it was supposed to be.

Now, to round up the cat. I regretted my edict that he be sent outside when he started marking everything in the house, now I had to corral him. He was not cooperative, but what cat is? Hissing and claws aside, I finally managed to jam him into the carrier. I thought he was probably aware of what was about to happen to him. 

It was late in the afternoon when I got the call to come to get the cat. Everything went fine.

It was perfectly timed, I could use the errand as an excuse for why I left the clothes in the dryer without folding them. I had washed them, after all.

The cat had no interest in leaving the carrier when we got home, so I left him by the door. I wanted my wife to see him, to know I had started on the list.

As I heard the door rustle, I casually strolled into the room, ready to accept my accolades. We exchanged pleasantries, then she knelt down next to the carrier. She instantly scowled.

"What's wrong? Is he ok?" I asked.

"He's fine," she said. "But this is the neighbor's cat."