It appears that my reputation is beginning to precede me.
Hello. My name is CBXB and I have a well known pussy problem.
A few days ago, the slightly monstrous fur ball that Ted and I rescued in January tried to escape from the castle in which he resides.
The failed jail breaker.
New Cat and Ted …forced friends.
Upon taking in the nameless pussy that I monikered New Cat (you know, to cleverly avoid developing any emotional attachment – and as you can see clearly worked since he still lives with us six months later…) he proved to be just as high maintenance as the other pussy living under my roof.
Pussy pink eye developed within days of rescue.
Because he was ill with ear, nose and throat problems (and I was ill from the lack of dough left in my leopard wallet due to New Cat’s incessant sicknesses) a lovely cone was placed around his tiny neck.
Miserable in his new mini manse.
When the cone and creams alone didn’t heal the newest member of our family, we unhappily packed up and made our fourth cheap visit to the vet in two weeks.
What felt like the 4,382 trip to the cat doctor.
To my surprise, the vet handed over a prescription that had to be filled at my local Walgreens. I apparently hadn’t reach crazy enough status in the animal kingdom to know that pets can receive medicine from people places.
Who knew? Not this blonde.
So I traipsed over to the pharmacy where I skipped up to the counter and proceeded to make a gigantic ass clown of myself.
60-ish year old male Pharmacist: “Have you ever filled a prescription here before?”
CBXB: “Yes, for me. But this one is for my cat.”
60-ish year old male Pharmacist: “OK, what’s your cat’s name?”
CBXB spoken in a very low, embarrassed voice, ashamed to possess a feline with no name: “New Cat.”
60-ish year old male Pharmacist: “Oh, OK. You have a new cat? What’s his name?”
CBXB, feeling the need to share past month’s life story: “Well, his name is New Cat because he doesn’t have a name because he’s a stray that I took in a few weeks ago and I don’t want to get attached by giving him a cutesy name because I have another cat that is my pride and joy and high maintenance because his bags of food cost $60 because he has kitty Celiac Disease so I really can’t afford to take in another cat right now even though I’ve already dropped about $350 on this stray because he’s cute and needs medicine and vet visits and so his name is New Cat.”
60-ish year old male Pharmacist, silent for an awkward 15 seconds: “I see. Well, good for you helping out an animal in need. I’m a cat person, too.”
PHEW.
Grandpa Pharmacist understood the deranged cat language I was speaking. Feeling ultra responsible and like a stand up citizen for rescuing a neighborhood stray in need, I perused the beauty aisle and almost shattered a bottle of nail polish on the tile floor when I heard over the loud-speaker..
“New Cat. New Cat. New Cat your order is ready.”
Oh. My. Fucking. Gawd.
Dignity left in the beauty aisle.
Slowly walking back up to the counter, trying to pretend that every normal person gets prescriptions filled for their cats with no names and acting as if I couldn’t see every single person in the store eyeing my left finger for a wedding band (which it lacks), further solidifying the “yep, she’s a crazy lady” thoughts running through their heads I quietly paid, hoping to get out of the pharmacy with no more attention called to me and this fucking new cat.
High tailing my ass out of there, as I was about 12 feet from the front door the pharmacist hollered, “Hope New Cat feels better real soon!”
Turns out, the humiliation was worth it because New Cat was back to good health in no time flat.
NC felt frisky almost immediately.
After Mr. Tuxedo’s health crisis of 2014 was behind us, I assumed no one but me would remember the happenings at the drug store.
A gal like me with a story about New Cat isn’t so memorable, right?
Wrong.
I went to pick up a personal prescription about a month after the fiasco and the nice lady ringing me up said, “Oh my, the pharmacist remembered you.”
Yep. Seriously.
All for this little bitch.
Not knowing whether to laugh or cry (I did both – cried from laughing too hard), I took on my new title of “Cat Woman” with pride – mostly because the word crazy was no where in sight.
Fast forward two months to last night, when I was again picking up a prescription for myself. I chose the drive through because hot yoga was the activity of choice after work and I was pretty sure anyone within 8 feet would be able to smell my disgusting aroma.
After giving my name and getting ready to settle up, the female voice through the speaker said, “the pharmacist wants to know how New Cat is doing.”
Ha. Yeah. Bye.
A loud laugh later, I told her to convey that New Cat was fabulous and still in fact named New Cat thinking that would be the end of it.
Fabulous. New Cat is fabulous.
Nope. I then heard her say, “The pharmacist wants to speak to you.”
Wanting to die in my sweaty state I pulled my sunglasses down in an attempt to ‘primp’ before my big phone date with Grandpa Pharmacist.
Pharmacist: “How’s the kitty cat doing? You still have him?”
CBXB: “I still have him and his name is still New Cat.”
Pharmacist: “Well, that’s better than Dead Cat.”
I have a comedian on my hands. And he’s a fellow cat lover.
A crazy cat man.
Maybe this man is my match made in crazy cat lady heaven…
More absurd by the second in my feline loving world….
CBXB
Nashville’s Craziest Cat Lady
Cowboys and Crossbones 