My favorite part of visiting my neurologist’s office is messing with her nurse, Chris, who’s pretty much like one of my brothers. Of course, like my brothers, Chris messes back.
The day before my appointment, he always calls and leaves a reminder message on my machine, but I’m sure that if people are in the waiting room when he calls, they probably think he’s calling some psycho. Why?
Two words: “Cat molester.”
Yep, that’s what Chris has dubbed me. It’s a running joke, thanks to Luke’s talent for scratching the crap out of me, possibly in retaliation for the few times I stick weird stuff (hats, stuffed animals) on him for a few seconds to take goofy pictures. Chris’ last message cracked me up no end, as he used that phrase practically every other word while SPEAKING VERY LOUDLY.
Wow. Now I’m reconsidering calling Luke “Goofy Butt.” Maybe he feels demeaned when I use such language. Perhaps I’m in for big trouble as soon as he gains the ability to speak and can call a lawyer. Possibly I’ll be remanded to the custody of the Humane Society for crimes against felinity.
Yep, I’m in trouble.
Editor’s note: No cats were molested in the writing of this blog. Nor would they ever be. C’mon.