"The Deed is Done. Let's Start Day 1. You're Stuck With Me!"

I guess the day officially started at 5:12 AM when the phone rang and Julie couldn't figure out how to answer the damn thing until the 4th or 5th ring. In reality it had started at some point between 1:17 AM  ( when Mickey woke up and needed backrubs to fall back to sleep) and 5:12 when the extremely perky prerecorded voice of Julie's Superintendent informed her that there would be a 2 hour delay- because it was between those hours that it started snowing. Though, in the end, the snow is really just the icing on the cake.

Today we brought home Princess.

We were prepared for this-- sort of. We have blankets. Cat food. Water. Litter. What we didn't have on hand or have ready I was going to prepare during the 3 hours that Mickey was at nursery school. I would pick her up, give her a bunch of easy-to-eat lunch items for her car seat, drive down to Mount Vernon (an hour away), get the cat and head home. Challenging. Overwhelming. But do-able.

Two hour delay, huh? Ok. What we didn't have on hand I was going to prepare in the 1 hour while Mickey was at nursery school. Fixing her lunch was out, so we'd pick up something on the way and then drive down to Mount Vernon, get the cat and head home. More challenging. More overwhelming. But still do-able.

Step 1- Get home and prepare. Check.

Step 2- Get Mickey from nursery school. Check.

Step 3- Pick up food. This is where thing started to get interesting. First, I forgot that between Step 1 and Step 2 there was supposed to be Step 1.5- Get Gas. So I squeeze that in before Step 3. So, back to Step 3. Pizza is out, because I'm not carrying my giant shears, and she will only eat pizza cut into tiny squares. Chinese food is out because she won't eat it. There are no good bagel places near where we live, or in the direction we're going, so we can't do that. She doesn't eat sandwiches and I'm afraid she'll choke to death on an apple or hot-dog while strapped backwards into her car seat, so that's out too. This leaves me with only one logical solution. Greek Food. The kid won't eat a chicken nugget or grilled cheese, but she's nuts for pita's and Taziki sauce. We arrive at the awesome Greek place (that I just happen to love too) and I discover that at some point between Step 2.5 and Step 3 she has taken her shoes AND socks off and flung them to far corners of the car. With my ass hanging out into busy main-street traffic I find the shoes and socks and get them back on her, telling her that I'm angry. She bursts into tears and doesn't stop sobbing until a waitress brings her the pita. Then she wipes her tears and tucks in.

Step 4- Drive to Mount Vernon. Check. Turns out I still know my way around the old 'hood.

Step 5- Pick up cat. So we arrive at the least inviting animal shelter I think I've been to and go in to get Princess. When the lady at the desk sees me walk in carrying a cat carrier I think she nearly has a heart attack- they are under order from the city not to accept any more cats, to get rid of or euthanize the ones they already have (Princess was on the chopping bloc, hence our insane decision to adopt her). I explain that I've come to take a kitty and she recovers and sends a volunteer back to get Princess. He returns with her, nudges her into the carrier and closes the door. No introduction. No petting her or saying hello. Nothing.

At this point, Mickey realizes that there is a real, live crying cat in the carrier and it is COMING HOME WITH US!!! At this point they also ask me to sit down and fill out a whole pile of paperwork. Not surprisingly, this doesn't go so well. Mickey spends the next 5 minutes trying to shove disgusting, dirty cat toys through the vents in the carrier and I totally blank of the name of ANYONE in my life who I could use as a reference to the fact that I am not a cat-sacrificing nut-job because I'm too busy trying to keep Mickey from catching fleas. At one point she tries to shove a tennis ball through the front of the carrier just as I start muttering to myself and crossing off reference names and I SWEAR the two women running the shelter were about to tell me that the cat was better off being euthanized than sent home with me. (I put down the pen, picked up the toddler, gave her a lollipop and threatened her with eternal time out if she moved again and then assured the women that they were not sending this sweet elderly cat home to the house of a crazy toddler who was just going to torture it. They both laughed a little too quickly.) Another 10 minutes go by and we are ready to go, paperwork filled out, cat hesitantly packed into my car.

Step 5- Text references and let them know that an animal shelter might be calling them.

Step 6- Call vet. We were not initially planning on taking her to our own vet, but once I had her in my car I couldn't help it. I called them up and asked if there was any chance they had an appointment for... say... now? I explained the situation and they said they had an opening at 3:30. I checked the clock- 1:45. That should be fine, I told them. We might be a bit early? No problem, she said.

Step 7- Drive to vet, cat screaming, toddler threatening to escape from car seat and come up front to pet the cat.

Step 8- Arrive at vet. It's barely 2:40. Drag toddler and cat inside, apologize for being so early, fill out health information sheet by answering "I don't know, we just met" for every question-- Kinda like on House when Thirteen is hooking up with that chick and she has some kinda seizure and Thirteen drives her to the emergency room where House works?

Step 9- Visit with vet. Right away he says that there is no way she's 12. Maybe 10. Probably 8. Oddly, I feel like I've been duped. Eyes are clean, nose is good, ears are a mess and she probably has mites, teeth are a disaster and she needs dental care. The rest of her is fine, her nails are like talons and they cut those for me. She just keeps trying to rub up against me and purr. Mickey is starting to fade and gets up set when they hold her down so she can check their ears, so I have to hold her down while she screams at the doctor, "LET HER GO!!" I give her a packet of yogurt in a squeezy pouch, put the cat back into the carrier and go out to wait for my bill. While I'm digging for my credit card Mickey runs away and climbs onto the "Large Dog" scale in one of the exams rooms. Turns out she weighs 31.1 pounds with sneakers and jacket.

Step 10- Back in car, head for home. We finally arrive, more than 4 hours after I left. Wrangle Mickey and Princess out of the car and onto the front steps. Despite the snow on the ground and the plummeting temperatures, I strip Mickey down to her socks and underwear before putting her into the house because I'm afraid she has picked up rabid monkey disease or something similar at the shelter (she was crawling around on the filthy floor). Dress half naked kid in pink leopard print pants, turn on DragonTales, release screaming traumatized cat into the bathroom that will be serving as Administrative Segregation for at least the next 3 days and we are home free.

Seriously? Piece of cake...