Called

Middle Child talked a mile a minute relating an update from the weekend's youth group retreat. As Middle Child spun out her tale, I picked up Zoey (who attempted to flee, but failed to avoid my petting) telling the cat in my usual voice (and unintentionally switching to the annoying baby talk sometimes reserved for infants, pets, and cloying couples) that she was, "... fuzzy, hairy, and super, super cute!" (Dear Heavens, at least I didn't say fuzzy-wuzzy or cutesy-wootsy... Ick.) I stood stroking the cat's fur while again informing Zoey that she wasn't going anywhere until I was done petting her. The hairball patiently waited to make her escape. Middle Child continued on to her story's conclusion. The mister and I laughed along with Middle Child at the circumstances involved in her story until she gasped and pointed at the kitchen counter with wide eyes. The cat found her getaway opportunity.

As the cat sped away, I fumbled for my phone sitting on the counter top where I leaned while listening to Middle Child and cooing to the cat. The display showed a minute and fifty-six seconds into a phone call to our dentist's voice mail. It's entirely possible to hear every word said over the connection of such accidental calls. I'm just really glad that it's the mister, and not me, who will head into that office for an appointment this week. Eesh.