When I was in high school I was a pretty good except for getting home when I said I would. Mom would get in her car and go driving around Fort Wayne looking for me. It used to aggravate the poo out of me. I would say to her, "What if you were in an accident? How would we find you? What if I get home and see you're gone and decide to go looking for you? What if we both end up out all night?" But it didn't matter. She did it every time.
Then when Mitch and I were dating, one time when he worked an hour away he was late getting home and I was worried. He wasn't answering his work phone or cell phone. He'd driven his motorcycle to work on 69 and it was dark and raining out. I was afraid he'd gone off the road into a ditch or something and I got all into a panic and put the two cats into their carrier and went to go find him. Don't ask me why I put the cats in the carrier. I guess I thought if he was dead on the side of the road I wanted the cats there with me.
So I drove all the way to Hamilton and all the way back looking for him in the dark and rain, neither of which I can see in. Hollie pooped in the carrier because she was carsick and she and Treble were scrambling to one end trying to stay away from it, and of course both ended up with poop all over them. And it smelled. Very bad. And I got back to the apartment and Mitch was there wondering where I was. And he had absolutely no sympathy for me and laughed at me while I washed the cats.
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