The Problem with Tuesdays

I know I have a problem with Tuesdays.  It’s nothing new, it’s just that sometimes I wish they wouldn’t be so… well, problematic.

Like this one.  I woke up too late, having missed the cats’  quiet “Excuse us, but it’s time for breakfast please” and they had progressed to “EXCUSE MUCH??  What’s the deal here Two-Legs?  You get up NOW and make with the kibble delivery pronto or we’re going to have to revisit The Deal*!!” before I heard them.

Then I ran to the bank (out of quarters? You have less than 25 inventory items.  How can you be OUT of one of them?) and then got to the store a bit late.  To find out that we had run out of computer-printable labels.  Nothing quite as much fun as having your minions glare at you with that “oh-n0-we-aren’t-handwriting-850-labels-no-way-boss-lady” look. 

So I trot off to the office supply store.  And of course they are out of the correct size of computer-printable labels.  But while I wander around looking in every crevice just in case some are hiding somewhere, I realize that because I was late getting up, I didn’t pay attention when I reached for the underwear.  I grabbed the quitter drawers.  You know, those ones where the elastic gives up about 2 hours into the day, and you spend the rest of the day shoving your index finger into your waistband to hook the top edge and haul them back up before they puddle down inside your jeans. 

It’s difficult to look cool and classy while dragging at your underwear.  And it makes me just a bit crabby.  OK, a lot crabby.

And after we close the store, I run by the post office and the grocery store, pick up some take-out (because after buying groceries who wants to cook?) and go home.  To find that I left the bedroom door open, and cats have been sleeping on my bed all day.  They all head for the kitchen, except for the black mini-panther.  He remains sprawled on my pillow, smiling at me.  (Yes, some cats smile.  Smart people worry when their cats smile.)  We have dinner and catnip and watch TV.

I didn’t find the half-a-tree-roach under the covers until much later that night.   See?  I should’ve worried about that smile.   But it was still Tuesday.  I don’t like Tuesdays so much.

*”The Deal” agreed to by the two Original cats in 1989 (and agreed to by all subsequent additions on their second birthdays) states that the Humans in the household agree to provide two meals a day (no cheap food), medical care, scratching posts, clean litter boxes, sparkle-balls, furmice, catnip,  ear-scritchies and tummy-rubs as requested by The Cats.  In return, The Cats agree to purr at least twice a day and to wait until we stop moving to eat us.  To that end, Bear (the black mini-panther one) will on occasion bite a finger, earlobe, or toe if it’s been still too long.  Just to make sure, you know.