I have exactly one hour until I am going to sprint from the building as if I were on fire, and I cannot think of a better way to pass the time than working diligently on an important task. Whoa! That was a serious typo. What I meant to say is that I will spend the last hour blogging, emailing, and trying to find ANYTHING to eat in the office (I’m not beyond licking mysterious crumbs out of my desk drawer). I’m sorry, but this job is so fucking dull. Other than occasional legal task or correspondence request, I spend the majority of my time organizing huge case files. What baffles me is why my boss expects a peon like me to give a damn about these huge, messy stacks of files when he, at a billable rate of $300 per hour, has unconcernedly cast them aside into unmarked boxes and heaps.
But enough complaining.
The big drama of the week was on Monday night. I took Kobe to a park, as it was a comparatively mild evening and I had a yen to revisit my dinner via tire swing-induced illness. After frolicking for an hour, we returned to my car, where we were accosted by an overly friendly feline. Kobe and I said hello (well, I did at least; Kobe said something more like, “you’d be FANTASTIC on rye bread”), and then I shooed it away so we could go home. As I got in my car to leave, a Benz sped past, followed by a horrible thumping noise. I then saw the cat roll out from under the car, and shoot onto the sidewalk, where it crouched and yowled plaintively. It was absolutely, unforgettably terrible.
Being the sensible female I am, I immediately burst into tears.
I moved Kobe to the back part of my car (I generally call it the trunk, but when you tell people that you put your dog in the trunk, they look at you strangely), bundled the terrified cat in the random tweed skirt that happened to be in my car, and drove to Pender Veterinary Clinic. I was hugely impressed with the service I received there: within moments of telling the girl at the front desk that I was holding a hit-and-run victim, doors literally flew open, and nurses ushered me into the main treatment room where three vets were already waiting. If I had come in with a severely hemorrhaging head wound, I don’t think I would have gotten better service than the stray cat did.
To make a long story short, after a series of tests and X-rays, the cat turned out to be alright. The hospital then sent her to the animal shelter for her to be claimed, adopted, or turned into glue (come on, it’s a joke). The next morning, I created and distributed fliers in each mailbox near where the incident occurred, in hopes of winning my “Good Samaritan” Girl Scout badge. I received a call that same evening from a woman who suspected that her cat was the one I’d found; after hearing the story, she went and picked “Tweety” up from the shelter first thing today.
I’m just pleased that the cat is now safe, healthy, and back at home. And I’m thrilled that I actually had a chance to acquire some good karma. So that leaves me with what, God: 1, Lucifer: 3,482,234,342? Hey, it’s a start.
And with that happy story, kids, I’m departing work now.