Anecdote | Humor
The Vet Told Me My Cat Is a Pothead
The cat’s out of the bag
Harley’s pupils darted back and forth. It was almost like her brain was vibrating. She stared out the window, but I could tell she wasn’t really looking at anything. It was like when someone stares off into space, lost in a daydream.
I tried to snap her out of it, but she was completely oblivious to me. I called her name and waved my hand in front of her face, trying to elicit some sort of response.
Nothing.
My attempts at snapping her back into reality went unnoticed by her. She continued to drift away to some other galaxy.
It was as if she was looking right through me.
I panicked and grabbed her carrier as quickly as I could and shoved her in. She didn’t even put up the fight she normally would.
I ran past my husband on the way to the car. I could barely tell him what was wrong without tears welling up in my eyes — my body’s reaction to the fear and overwhelming emotions that I felt towards the possibility that my “little peanut” was in some sort of danger.
Thank god for nine lives.
It’s important to mention that my cat has burned through at least five of her nine…
