Ok, sooo........
I have this diabetic cat.
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I'll give you a minute to gather yourself.
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The response I usually get is laughter.
Recently when I shared this with a friend, she said,
"Diabetic Cat? How did that happen?
Did he eat too much chocolate?
Is he drinking too many sodas?"

I have no idea, but I usually keep the Godiva to myself
so I don't think chocolate is the problem.

Because of this issue, Izzy, our diabetic
gets a shot of insulin twice a day
once in the morning and once at night.

It goes without saying, my wife is the medical practitioner at our house
and she administers these shots.
I may fill the syringe with the cloudy substance
if I'm feeling good natured
but sticking the needle into a living thing....
NOT ME BABY!
Can't do it.

Until today.
There's always a "Until today"
in my life.

For reasons that are unimportant to this story
I found myself in the position of playing doctor this morning.

For all you veterinarians out there
this isn't a big deal.
My wife can shoot Izzy up with the ease
of an experienced trauma nurse.
Izzy, isn't what I would call athletic.
He's usually laying in a pile on the floor somewhere
so tracking him down for his daily dose is usually quite easy.

UNTIL TODAY.
UNTIL I HAVE TO PLAY DOCTOR SHEPARD.

Before loading up my syringe I take a quick glance around
for Izzy.
Nowhere to be seen.
Great!
Just my luck.

I fill the needle, then starting looking in the usual places
for the patient.
Not in the house.
Not on the deck.
At this point I'm saying things aloud like
"are you freekin kidding me?"

This cat has spent the last 100 years laying in a lump on my floor.
A trip for him out to my deck is considered a road trip.
So I stand by the railing looking around
and I spot him out in the back yard.
Damn.

So off I head, needle in hand, to capture me a cat.
As you might expect, my "Come here Izzy......"
is not working.

Everytime I get within 3 feet of the diabetic
he takes off with the quickness of Dwane Wade to escape.
This game goes on for 10 minutes
as we cover 1/2 an acre.
The insulin is kept in the refrigerator.
It's a must.
It's a muggy 85 degrees outside and I'm running around with a needle.
No pressure here.

Finally, I corner him in the fern garden.
I wade through the leaves until I find my target,
pushing the leaves away from my face, my glasses falling
off the top of my head.

Finally, success!
I now know what it must feel like
when those trophy hunters bag the big cat in the Serengeti.