He’ll once again take responsibility for defending our home against rampaging zombies, chain-saw wielding maniacs, aliens and rabid Avon ladies; he may or may not use the pepper spray, baseball bat and football helmet, his choice.
While I’ll be glad to have him home, his arrival is a day late and one giant hissy fit short because; I really could have used his help earlier today when corralling the cat in his carrier for the trip to the vet for his one-week post-operative check up.
I am not exaggerating when I say; the cat hates the carrier and, despite being lured halfway into it by a trail of cat treats, he still managed to throw the above-mentioned hissy fit-seriously, there was hissing-during his struggle to escape. Then, he howled for the entire drive to town. Then he spat at the veterinary technician, and, it wasn’t a very impressive showing but, if he was physically capable of hawking a loogie at the poor woman; I have no doubt he would have.
All that drama for a checkup that consisted of the vet prying open Gilligan’s jaws and giving his mouth a cursory glance before declaring the incision to be healing nicely before sending us on our way which, is when we re-enacted The Taming of the Shrew once again.
I could have used a second pair of hands in the cat-wrestling portion of the program, is what I’m saying and, the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that Hugh really should have to do a night patrol in the football helmet.
Payback, Hugh; it’s what’s for dinner.