Take two waffles and call me in the morning.

Yesterday, I ate two waffles for breakfast.

It heralded a “normal” day.

“Normal” departed after I put away the dirty dishes.

Turns out, a new pet snuck into the house.

Believe me, this “pet” was HUGE.

He could barely fit under a juice glass.

Like any good mother, I ran away.

When I returned, something awful had happened.

My kid named the new pet.

She insisted we find it a new home.

I promised to bring Ocho to the SPCA for adoption.

I hopped in the car, with Ocho, and drove into the big city.

I encountered a problem along the way.

A very slow, erratic, annoying problem.

After trailing behind him for a mile, I hit the gas.

The fast lane isn’t usually my style, but I was on a mission.

I made it to the SPCA in record time.

I reached into the back seat for Ocho.

His juice glass was empty.

He was in my car. Somewhere.

I walked all the way home.

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