There is something going on with kitty. I don't want to bore you with all the details, but it includes vomiting on my brand new rug. My husband decided that kitty needed to see the doctor and we all know what that means. It means that *I* need to take kitty (and 4 kids) to the doctor.
So I called the vet to get an appointment and the helpful receptionist says, "We have time this afternoon." This seems like a less than ideal situation. Not only will I be taking 4 children and a cat to the vet right after school, which in our house is cranky/hungry time. But we are having a huge thunderstorm complete with hail and winds. So I reply to the receptionist, "Sure, we will be there in 30 minutes".
I grabbed the kitty and grabbed some granola bars and we head out in the rain. All the way there I get to answer questions about why the kitty is crying and why he doesn't understand English. So then the kids decide to meow at him to tell kitty that we are going to the vet and to not worry.
We get to the vet and into a room and are (semi) patiently waiting. The doctor starts to ask me about symptoms while the kids are, well, being kids. The baby wants to be held so he can see, Lainy Ann is doing homework, but must stand next to me to do it, and Connor is playing with the kitty, while the doctor is trying to keep him still. William is in his own little world bouncing around, but whenever he gets too close to Connor, Connor lets out a scream. Yet I am trying to talk to the doctor through all this mess.
At this point the doctor is telling me that my cat is ruling the roost. His symptoms are behavioral and I am a bad kitty-mommy. The low-roar in the room is cresting and I remember the granola bars in my purse. I quickly dole them out and . . . . . SILENCE. Now I can talk to the doctor. But he wants to do the talking. He says, "Do you see what just happened? The kids were bothering you and you fed them and now they are quiet. I bet that's what is happening with kitty too."
Fabulous! Even the vet is telling me I'm a bad parent.