The Great Escape

My cat, Winston, decided to make a break for it this morning. He was chasing a moth when he bounded out the back door for parts unknown. Naturally, he did this very early in the morning. After about twenty minutes of searching (and a technical B&E in a neighbor's garage which a similar cat was seen entering), I found him placidly exploring the rear property line. That is the only place in the yard where poison ivy grows, so naturally he would gravitate there and refuse to budge. Once he was finally separated from his itchy nest, he was hustled into the laundry tub for a thorough bath. My veterinarian reports that cats cannot get poison ivy, but he could lovingly give it to us with all the oils on his fur. Even though I jumped in the shower after handling him, I feel a little itchy. All over. Now, you probably know that I have a terminal case of hypochondria, so who knows. Just in case, I used a calamine based soap. Winston, now dry and napping in his perch, seems largely unaffected by this whole drama, other than his fur going in all different directions. Maybe he's trying out a punk look.
After dealing with all this excitement, I lay back in bed and looked at my cell phone, trying to gauge just how ticked I should be about the earliness of the hour. There was a text message waiting from Lisa, announcing the arrival of her twins very early this morning. Ironically enough, they were born while I was knitting their sweaters. She had a boy and a girl, through natural childbirth and even used the word huzzah in her announcement text. That is just one example of how kickass Lisa is.