The Mind of a Cat Doctor

I've been sick for the past week. I really feel sorry for Mr. and Mrs. Blackstone, who have rescheduled dental recheck appointments with me twice already since I was out of the office. Dr. Runte has been out the past few days too with a sinus infection, so we agreed to blame it all on Dr. Filip, since he was sick the week before and also because we just like blaming stuff on him.

So, while I was out, I wore a Breathe Right strip across the bridge of my nose 24/7. I'd have to say that I'm impressed by the design of this thing. Over Christmas I saw a few Breathe Right commercials, which feature the inventor of Breathe Right Strips. I was expecting a professional-looking middle-aged medical researcher in a lab with a white coat on. This guy looked like Jeff Foxworthy bouncing on the bed in a run-down motel room.

Okay, so this is how Typhoid Filip started. I bought myself an Ab-Lounge for the hell of it. My cat thought it was his new bed, and he spent more time on it than I did. I decided that I was going to try it out for the first time a few days ago. Right before I got on, I chewed up a half-dozen Sweet Tart hearts, which made the back of my throat sore. After 15 minutes of lounging myself to death during the commercial breaks of The Oprah Winfrey Show, I rose from the contraption, grasped my throat, and felt like I walked through the Mojave desert with my mouth wide open. It went downhill from that point on.

So today I was feeling really bad and discovered I ran out of cold medicine. I forced myself to get up and go to the grocery store. I put on a pair of aqua-checkered pajama pants, a pair of Crocs, a long-sleeved t-shirt an Old Navy corded sweater jacket, and a Texas A&M baseball cap. My dog needed to go outside first, and of course since she's a princess, I obeyed. Now, she refuses to go out in the BACKyard, which is fenced in, and instead insists on going out front, which is NOT fenced, and is surrounded by heavy traffic, 300 screaming elementary school kids out for recess, the Fire Station, and probably 2.5 criminal offenders.

My dog prances down the front steps and out onto the grass. She then continues onto the sidewalk, and bravely trots near the property line. I clapped my hands and called her name. Her ears twitched and she pretended she didn't hear me and continued down the street. Not in the mood for her antics because of my illness, I stomped down the steps, slipped on the wet pavement and landed on my tailbone. I guess that's what I get for trying to exercise my right to have command over my own animal. She came running up to me as if to say, "Yeah, that's what you get for trying to tell me what to do!" She then ran ahead of me to the front door, waiting for me to let her highness in.

I went to the grocery store to get some produce and Sudafed. While checking out, I caught the end of a conversation between the old lady in front of me and the cashier. I figured out the lady in front of me saw the Sudafed I was about to purchase on the conveyer belt that was separating my produce and flu medication and her adult diapers and baby powder. The old lady said, and I quote, "You know if I was sick, I'd just go down to the man on the corner of the street and buy me some crack cocaine. That way I wouldn't care if I was sick." I pretended I didn't hear her.

After I purchased my produce and Sudafed, I headed out the door. So anyway, on my way out the door, the friggin' store alarm goes off. The old lady, who was talking to her self about crack cocaine and stalking me at the same time, blurts out, "It's probably the Sudafed honey!"