You know the kind of weekend I’m talking about.
Where you have managed to line up four days in a row of Going Absolutely Nowhere. When you are looking forward to relaxing. Or catching up. Or getting ahead.
Or all three.
And then you spend all Saturday morning at the vet with a cat, after spending Friday night washing all the bedding in your house because she keeps peeing on it. [sad, but true]
You spend $168.44 on shots and gland expressions [also sad, also true] and antibiotics that are The Cure.
And then you spend another hour trying to get her to choke down those blessed antibiotics, powdered and hidden in the chicken-flavored mush known as Fancy Feast, a.k.a. The Worst Smelling Stuff Ever.
And you know you will be doing so for the next 14 days.
On Sunday, you take a break, help the husband build a shed, knowing you have two more days to work and rest.
And then Monday, on the day you planned to Get All The Stuff Done, you spend most of it cleaning up piles of puke that contain the antibiotic that you fought so hard to stuff down a kitty lovingly gave to your cat.
You head to the kitchen and see a can of salsa sitting on the counter, reminding you that you forgot to throw supper in the crock-pot earlier. You quickly throw corn and beans and salsa into crock-pot, and then reach for a knife to open package of chicken.
But all of your knives are dirty because you have been using them all weekend to chop tiny little cat pills into powder to feed to the cat who then promptly pukes them back up on the carpeting.
You then realize it is noon, you have not eaten breakfast, and you are not wearing any pants.
You declare defeat, collapse on the couch to watch an old standby, Serendipity
As the credits roll and a love song plays in the background, you realize in a haze of caffeine and the warmth that can only come from a slight crush on mid-90s awkward-adorable John Cusack, that maybe your list was too long anyway.
After all, you still have tomorrow.
Happy long weekend, everyone. I hope yours involved less cat puke.
P.S. The adorable culprit, who I am only slightly mad at:
