The Wide Angle: The horror — Cat’s don’t high-five
This past Monday was rolling along pretty good as Monday’s go.
But like so many idyllic starts to horror movies — it wasn’t going to last.
Some context. Myself and girlfriend were going to Rochester with two major goals — a new TV and a cat tree for our monster Buster and perhaps Buster himself foreshadowed what was to come because he is a monster. A lovable monster, and we don’t regret picking him out from the Mower County Humane Society in the least, but when the volunteers “remember” him, then well, let’s just say he’s not the lovable cuddler he portrayed when we picked him out.
He’s energy with knives on all four paws.
At any rate, the morning began disappointingly. The pet store we stopped at doesn’t apparently believe or maybe trust people to be able to assemble their own cat tree so getting a tree they had in my Ford Focus wasn’t an option.
Seriously people, I do know how to use a screw driver, but moving on.
So we moved on to Best Buy and looked for TVs where we found one, but realized we could get the same model cheaper in Austin so in a fatal decision, opted to hold off. Up until this point the day was only saved by Olive Garden and it’s United States imitation of Italian food.
Until, that is, Fleet Farm stepped up to save the day! Success on the cat tree front. Man, that was anticlimactic wasn’t it? Sounded better in my head.
Back to Austin we traveled, with visions of a new TV swimming in my head. I knew Walmart had it in stock, I had seen it with my own two, adorable brown eyes and yet when we marched into the store — it was gone.
I thought about dropping to my knees and doing my best Charlton Heston, “Planet of the Apes,” imitation, but really what good would that have done aside from showcase my freshman year Best Actor Award from high school.
At any rate I would have looked ridiculous, because as we sent the helpful chap from electronics on a quest to the back looking for more, I turned and saw the last one, snuggled away on a shelf.
Providence people, providence, but the shadows were beginning to stretch long. I should have heeded the dread.
After putting the cat tree together, with Buster’s brand of help which was more batting pieces away from me and climbing in empty boxes, I went to work on the TV, a big 50-incher. Man it was impressive, anchoring the living room in all its flat-screened goodness.
With growing anticipation of firing up the PlayStation 4 on its shiny surface, I pressed the power button. Nothing. Was that scratching at the window?
I pressed it again as the night crept in and then pressed it a third time, pushing the button harder, because in man logic, pushing a button harder is always an option.
For the next hour and a half I launched into the darkened woods of customer service and the colorful use of the English language, fearing the footsteps chasing my good day away from me. I wanted a quick fix, I wanted a miracle, I wanted to be saved, but ultimately the axe-murder of dawning realization forced me to face the inevitable fact. We were heading back to Walmart.
In the continuing anticlimactic vibe you’ve no doubt felt by this point, we swapped out the TV for the same brand, but slightly different. It’s hooked up and works fine, something you just know I celebrated and if you think I didn’t try high-fiving my cat, then you don’t know me real well.
Then I realized something.
No matter the struggle, being silently judged by your cat while trying to high-five him is embarrassing.