Why I no longer take my cat to the vet

Okay, so you need to know a few things about me. One: I am a highly emotional person (shocking, I know). So when I think stuff is hilarious, I will laugh with all my might. However, when things are sad I will be downright devastated.
This particular devastation happened last week. It was time for Gizmo’s yearly check-ups. The poor guy hates the vet. I pulled out his carrier and like a doomed POW, he just walked into the carrier with this defeated stride. I tried to make it up to him by plying him with treats in his carrier, which he did not indulge in. I tried being upbeat and talking the entire walk from my condo to the car. When we started driving, I tried to keep my upbeat attitude.


Then he mewed. This sad, baleful sorrowful sound that clearly said, “Mommy, why are you doing this to me? Don’t you love me?”
And I lost it.



We hadn’t even got the vet yet and I already had tears.
So we finally get in and go into the examination room. The first thing to do is get Gizmo out of the carrier which is done by tipping the carrier parallel with the table and shaking… kind of like when you’re trying to get ketchup out of the bottle.
When he’s finally out, shaking and making me feel like a villain, we place him on the scale to get weighed. This is when things turned dark.



I felt indignant.



Someone later told me that this was the equivalent of someone who is supposed to weigh 120 weighing closer to 150. I was not aware of this at the time and thought the vet was being unfair… but I also thought that this definitely confirmed my fears that I would make a TERRIBLE mother in the future.

I also thought his logic for getting Gizmo to eat less through the day was…odd.




By the time the actual shot came around, Gizmo had pressed his entire body against my chest, hiding under my hair and trying in vain to get me to protect him. I have never felt like more of a monster. So when the vet came back to the exam room with the needle, this is what he was greeted with.


With what could only be a disgusted shaking of the head and firm “no” he quickly gave Gizmo his shot and ushered us out into the foyer, glad he wouldn’t have to see me for another year at least.

When I told my husband of the day’s events, trying to choke back tears, I was greeted with a sigh, a bemused “only you, Katelyn” and:


He’s the best.

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Why we make shopping lists.

Okay, so I’m just gonna throw this tidbit of info out there: I am impulsive. Sometimes I get so carried away with a thought I single-mindedly go after it… then get bored. The same thing happens with shopping, as this comic will show you.

It all began with a lovely boring trip to the market. I should point out, my Husband insists that for impulse control as well as budgetary reasons we make a list and completely stick to it when grocery shopping. Yeah. That means if you see 60 awesome muffins on sale for $1.00 you CANNOT buy them. It’s sheer insanity, but in a fit of love and ardour I agreed to this insanity.

Anyway, like I was saying…

When all of a sudden….

I saw something beautiful. Something magical. Something on sale.

Which of course was NOT on our shopping list. Therefore, it had to be decided on unanimously between the two of us. Not an easy task when your husband despises sugary sweet cereals (yes, I married a grown up! Gross.).

I take my victories in whatever form they happen to appear. I eagerly snatched the closest box of Crapple Snax, shoved them under my arm and practically ran to the checkout. From that moment on, it was sweet sweet anticipation.

Yes friends, anticipation is the killer of many dreams. Not only did those horrible sugary O’s taste NOTHING like the Crapple Snax of my youth, they were beyond awful! Seriously. Do not buy them. Now I know why they were on sale.

Subsequently,  now I have yogurt and granola for breakfast. And I sort of love it.

Maybe, just maybe I’m growing up too.

My first real kiss.

My first real kiss happened at the tender age of 21. I would like to comment however, several people have tried to kiss me.  The creepy pervert in Chapters, my first ‘boyfriend’ at the age of 12.  They say you need to kiss a lot of frogs to get to the prince. I decided to just wait for the Prince. I married the first man I ever kissed and for me, it was worth the wait!

This being said, my first kiss was not as…well, romantic as some stories I have heard. Unfortunately, it is completely my fault for that. You see,  once you’ve waited 21 years to have your first kiss…there’s really no rush.

So when the perfect moment presented itself…twice, I managed to fight off all semblance of confidence and just…ruin it.

The first kiss attempt my husband managed was in a beautiful setting. Beautiful scenery, sunset, standing right in front of the ocean that lulled us into sweet comfort.

Unfortunately, I looked over just in time to see  my husband’s face nearing mine.

Instead of letting it happen naturally, my mind began to overwork all the scenarios. What if I sneezed just when his lips touched mine? What if I fainted?  And so of course I did what I do best.

I panicked.

To his credit, he handled it well.

The next attempt occurred when we had gone for a long hike around Campbell Valley Park. I was sweaty and out of breath because I do not exercise unless there is a money prize at the end of it.  We were sitting on the edge of a dock, comfortable and joking when all of a sudden I felt his eyes on my face…then my lips

And finally, it happened.  In the most unromantic fashion possible. The part in Jurassic Park when the Velociraptor are trying to break into the kitchen.  Could not be less sweet.

But it happened.

And I laughed. A lot.

After several unsuccessful attempts and my husbands surely growing frustration, I sobered and tried to recreate the kissing vibe that had gone out the window when I started laughing in his face.

For the record, I’m a pro now!

Why I shouldn’t be invited to hockey parties.

Okay guys, Canucks have made it to the FINALS. The first game is tonight… and thankfully I will be nowhere near my husband when this game begins. Why do you ask? Because I am the WORST hockey fan ever. Not only do I barely watch it, the only real reason I watch it is because EVERYONE else I know does. Hell, most of the time I’m just trying to stay awake.

And it’s not that I don’t love the Canucks, and it isn’t that I’m not excited that they’re going to the Stanley Cup… it’s just that…. well, it’s not like I’m playing. So you have to understand my investment…. is not so much. Plus….well, I kind of turn into a moron when it comes to sports so I try to pretend that I’m busy with something else.

Usually since my phone sucks however, I need to harass my husband during the game.

When that doesn’t work, I usually try to be supportive by actually watching the game with him. This doesn’t go well because we come from two different worlds. In my world, men in hockey uniforms are not judged by how they play. They are judged on handsomeness  and conduct off the ice.

And it really sucks for my husband during overtime…

And lastly, even when I TRY to be involved, it rarely works out. Since I’m usually doing something in another room when I hear a loud clapping from the TV I assume we have won the game. Turns out…. sometimes we don’t.

All in all however, I have to applaud my desire to be a Canucks fan. I know since I am Canadian it should be in my blood by now…but I guess not. However, I hope they do AWESOME in the playoffs so that I can play angry birds on my husbands phone while he watches the game.


Why interpretive dance freaks me out.

If you’re a dancer of interpretive dance, please don’t be offended. But I have NO clue what you are doing up there.

This story begins with my husband and I taking a trip to the Britannia Museum of Mining this last weekend. They were putting on a free concert – INSIDE A MINE! It was very neat and very cold and for the first time in my life I had remembered my faux fur trimmed jacket. Everything was going swell, it was very theatrical with some exquisite piano playing until….

My husband decided to ditch me.

When what he really meant was:

Because that’s what happened. My husband left to look at rocks. I sat there, mesmerized by the piano music that lulled me into a half stupor as I sat there, listening. As the music tapered off, I heard the melodious strains of an operetic voice filling the mine. A woman in red was singing randomly and really over the top about really random stuff!

I tried to overlook this. I mean, it was bound to be weird at parts.

Then all of a sudden, women who had previously been our tour guides suddenly swarmed to the stage, began TEARING OFF their clothes and were left in a glare of black lycra body suits as I stared on in horror.

You see, I don’t understand interpretive dance. It makes zero sense to me. I know that it speaks to some people, but dancing in bodysuits in weird flailing syncopation doesn’t really strike home for me. It makes me uneasy. The more I couldn’t grasp WHY they were doing this, the more uncomfortable I got. Questions whirled in my head at the ridiculousness before me.

As if sensing my unease, the troupe began to gyrate at a mad pace, with one of them looking directly at me. Surely trying to suck out my soul as she capitulated across the dance floor, the mad soprano behind her.

It was at that point that I left.

I know it’s horrible, but I couldn’t take it. I literally felt the minutes ticking away from me that I would never get back. Minutes spent sitting in agonized silence, forced to watch this spectacle that made absolutely no sense to me in any way. And I was an Art major for goodness sake! Weird and eccentric are my bread and butter! But this…. this was too much even for me.

Why my husband and I are like the gay couple from Modern Family.

So, at a girl’s night the other night, I mentioned that I had a weird realization – that my husband and I are disturbingly similar to the gay couple from Modern Family. Cam and Mitchell.

I don’t say this in a bad way. And my husband and I are of the opposite sex! But in terms of personality and interpersonal relationships we sort of mirror the couple. Especially in the way that we are very opposite of one another and the way that our personalities are ridiculously similar to that of the characters. My husband is extremely calm, conservative but very amusing.

Myself on the other hand…well, I’m loud.  And dramatic and well…. pretty much like Cameron.

I thought it was a little wild. But it also made me think…. sometimes opposites really work.

My friends agreed that we were similar to the characters, but commented that Cameron and Mitchell don’t always treat each other the best. I thought about it and to be honest… they treat each other like a couple who’s been together a while. It’s not always romantic and sometimes you get on each other’s nerves. But… it’s life. You still love each other at the end of the day and you’d die for the other person. One may be more demonstrative and the other withdrawn, but it’s the differences that make us compliment one another.

And that’s the important thing to know – that’s how love is. It’s not just a quick flame, sometimes it’s a long, burning ember. To me, sudden flames usually die pretty quick. It’s the embers that continue long after the flame has burnt out.

Different surprises for different people.

In January, I was away for a week. I deviously lied and my husband I would be returning a week later than in actuality – hoping to surprise him when he arrived to my Mom’s house for dinner and instead saw ME standing there with my arms open and a smile on my face. I figured we’d have a great big happy “ohmygoshI’msohappytoseeyou” leap into each other’s arms.

This is what actually happened.

I really need to lower my expectations.

Phone Envy.

My husband got a new phone. A cool new phone where you can tap the screen and it does stuff. Don’t ask me specifics because I don’t work for Best Buy.  All I know is its a Nexus S Android and that you can get App’s on it. I’ve started calling them App’s because that’s what everyone else calls them and I was getting sick of being the only loser calling them ‘Applications’.

So, he got this awesome phone because his contract was up and he was renewing. I was excited at the prospect that we would both be getting new phones, because surely my phone contract was up soon too, right?

Wrong. June 2012.

Needless to say, instead of being happy for my husband I went into what can only be described as an adult sized hissy fit/sulking rampage, shooting him mean looks and frowning and sighing dramatically every time I passed him. I am well aware that he didn’t control when my contract expired but that didn’t stop my jealousy.

But then my jealousy morphed into pure unadulterated evil-ness at a remarkably cruel reality.

I just had to ruin his phone!

Then we would be on level playing ground! He would want a new phone but have to pay full price. Then I would demand a new phone as well, and subsequently pay full price. I didn’t really realize at the time that these phones are like, $600 each. GROSS.

But, until I realized that, these were some preliminary ideas.

Accidentally elbowing it off the arm of the couch into a waiting bowl of water below.

Covering it with catnip and throwing it at Gizmo.

Sticking gum on it.

Running over it with our Smart Car.

About this time my rage at the injustice of the situation was growing. And my husband, unfettered by my homicidal rage was simply enjoying his new gadget with relish.  In a way I found simultaneously annoying and infuriating.

But then… I had an ‘Oh no’ moment. Those are when I my conscience suddenly kicks in and reminds me that I’m really acting like a bitch. Or, that I should be happy for someone who loves me as much as my husband does. Or that I should just plain and simple be a good person. I hate those moments.

But, as usual, I listened.

It took everything at that moment, but I threw myself against his warm belly (as he is a foot taller than me) and mumbled my congrats for him on his new purchase and that he deserved it considering his old one literally didn’t work anymore. He seemed surprised at the gesture.

At first I was still miserable, but then decided that hey – in June 20, I’ll have a kick-ass phone! Even better than 2011’s models.  And that, my husband asks for literally nothing in this world and for him to get a free gift like this was awesome for him.

And so, lying in bed that night I prepared to turn off my light when a voice asked if I’d like to play on his phone.

He would live to regret that decision.

But I wouldn’t. The moral of the story is: Be nice, it literally will not kill you.