Ah, Friday. Friday was supposed to be my day to do my social thing. I was going into Arlington to deliver our guest cat back to Wine Friend, and I'd also checked with a few friends about maybe meeting up for the local First Friday after. And, the boys were going out for an evening without me! I was going to have a fabulous evening!
Ha!
My hair was all adorable and curly. I actually put on a cute top and skinny jeans, and planned to wear hawt high heel boots. Pretty earrings, light makeup... well, except for the eyes. I did dramatic smoky eyes, in purple. Hey, I was getting off the farm!
But, before I could escape the farm, I had to do less glamorous things. I had to pick up the Boy from school. I had to take Katt to the vet to get her nails clipped, and get more of her anti-vomit medicine. And then I needed to pick up two big bags of the water-softener salt. Muck boots were worn for those errands, and I only got two smears of dirt on my jeans. I wiped them off, and thought, in an hour, I'll be heading east.
And then my cell phone rang. I have a cool phone now (sorry, crackberry), and I told it to answer. It was the Husband. A hawk had been at the chickens, and he couldn't find any of them now. It was already 3:30.
I got us safely home, let Katt inside, and the three of us began the search, taking Amy with us. We walked through the woods and fields, searching for the freaked out chickens. Eventually, we found Elasta-Girl and Peaches-and-Cream in a tree. We lifted them out, and they were carried home. Then we found Darth Vader, hiding in another tree. Her tail feathers had been ripped out, and we found more sign of lost feathers there. Had we lost a girl or not?
We continued stalking the trees, but it was getting later, and the boys had movie tickets for 5:30. I told them to go on, that I would keep searching.
And I did. I contacted my chicken friend, and got a few suggestions. In the meantime, I took a break so I could prepare for the evening. Emptying the litterbox, gathering all the cat's toys and the remaining food. And, of course, making sure her cat carrier was ready. And, since the driveway was still icy, I dragged the garden cart to the front of the house, so I could haul all everything up the hill.
I did another chicken search. I let Wine Friend know I was running late, and let the other friends know that my time schedule was shot. Texting while walking through the woods is hazardous, however. I got caught by a low hanging branch and got a pretty good scratch across my forehead. I exchanged the phone for a bowl of chicken feed to shake as I walked, and still managed to run into tree branches. I was grateful it was winter, at least-- no spiderwebs or need for my web-wand.
Leia had shown up by then. Ginger, Acid and Mocha were still missing. But Mocha darted toward me just after the sun went down. I took her home and conceded defeat, hoping that one or both would return in the morning, assuming they survived the night.*
By then, it was almost six! I had to get out of there. I was running so late! I grabbed the kitty and my purse, put on the boots by the door, and wheeled the cart up the ice. It was heavy, and I took off my coat again because I was starting to, ahem, glow.
Let's fast forward, shall we? I delivered the cat, and Wine Friend took me out to dinner, since I was shaking from hunger. (I'd planned to eat something after the guys left and before I needed to leave, but that didn't happen, obviously.) We went to a nice wine bar, and I ate a lovely meal and drank lovely wine. I visited the lady's room.
Oh, and what a sight I beheld. I might have been okay if I had freshened my powder and lipstick, although the smokey eyes were more smudged than anything. And truthfully, the scratch across my forehead would have taken a bit of concealer or something. My cute curls were in a ragged mess. There were bits of twig in them! I had smears of what I hoped was only dirt along my collar bone. Never mind that I had mud on my jeans.
And I'd put on my riding boots, and not the high heels. The boots that had been cute when I got them, but then had become my field boots, not to be confused with the muck boots. These only had mud and a few scratches, and I am almost certain, no chicken bombs. That I cannot say for the muck boots.
But yeah, the best laid plans of the City Kitty were pooped on by the chickens. And I wasn't sure which I was more embarrassed by: being late because of the chickens, or looking awful because of the chickens.
*For those of you who could care less about the fashion nightmare, then rest assured, Ginger was there in the morning. But Acid, the bottom of the pecking order, has gone to the great hawk in the sky.
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