I visited our local pet store recently to get Murray some vitamins. My hopes are to stifle whatever is that’s making him consume weird and dangerous plastic things. The owner there knows all about Murray.
This last visit, she stopped me midway through my purchase and said, “I was thinking about you recently. I was picking some things up from our distributor and I saw these rubber chew toys for cats. So I got a couple.”
She told me that they are tough, designed specifically for cats to chew on.
“Keep an eye on him.” She said. “If he does manage to chew through it, take it away immediately.”
I was so excited for him! He was excited for him as well.
He chewed through the green one in less than five minutes, so I took it away. But then later, somehow, he got a hold of the purple one. Toby Joe came home to find it in two pieces.
The good news is, all the pieces have been accounted for and the items have been stored as proof just incase we have to sue the company in order to help pay for yet another pricey operation. (I’m only slightly joking here. I normally wouldn’t sue even my worst enemy, but this is getting to be too much.)
We have a long road ahead of us when it comes to Murray and his strange impulses, which has us both walking around like we’re dodging land-mines. This worry has become so prevalent in my life, I do the same thing whenever I visit my parents—hide plastic nipples, worry about what he’ll find while I’m asleep, worry about the pills in the house—even though he’s a hundred and fifty miles away.
Anyway, yesterday was a long day for our family. All I will say for now is that at the end of that very long day, we welcomed one of these into our home:
This would be really damn funny if it wasn’t so potentially serious.
Scratch that, it’s still a little funny.