Manic Monday

Monday mornings sure come around fast. But before I could feel sorry for myself heading back to the daily grind, I figured my day was going to be better than Sylvester's.

The pictures on the cat carrier are deceiving. Such a happy kitty lounging there. In reality, our girl sees a death trap, sure to be followed by pokes and prods at the doctor's office. When else would we bag up her precious princess poop to take along for ride?

She's not a fan of car rides and not a fan of vets. But they like her. And they love how purr-fectly healthy she is.

Today, though she's technically a senior citizen at 11 cat years and 60-plus human years, the doc said she "doesn't look a day over 3." Isn't that flattering? Despite her hissy fit, he had nothing but good things to say about her. Her great teeth and ears and beautiful coat.

How come I can't get compliments like than when I'm having a manic Monday?

Maybe because I wasn't forced into confinement or had to endure my doo-doo on display. I'll stick with my cubicle, which seems comparatively spacious now, and my private (well, it has a door) bathroom stall.

The princess and the pee... that's me.