One good turn too many?

I have been totally lulled into summer's slow, sweet days, (when I haven't been gallivanting around the province that is,) but today was one of those days when everything seemed upside down.

My lawn boy is late, so I am late taking my shower.  I have a lunch date at 11:30, so I climb into the shower at 10:30. Vimy is always on my heels, so I leave the door open, so he can flop down on the mat. I have no sooner turned on the water, that I hear him scurry down the stairs and start barking his head off. Well, he does that when ANYONE walks by, so I am not concerned. However, he KEEPS barking.  Now I think, "Um, someone around? Did I lock the front door?"  I scoot out of the tub, to close and lock the bathroom door.  Just in case! You never know. Vimy keeps barking while I take my shower, and wash my hair, at a fast clip!   I keep thinking he is going to stop barking at some point, but he doesn't.  Five minutes later, wrapped in towels and bathrobe, I hurry downstairs, only to see my dinner companions waiting for me.... an hour early!  One is sitting on the bench in the garden, and the other won't get out of his car, because now Vimy is running up to the car and barking his head off at HIM!

No harm done. At least he didn't chase HIM up a tree!  They leave to do errands and we meet up ninety minutes later. I had done many errands in that time, as well as made myself presentable.   I continued to run more errands after our enjoyable dinner date, thinking how I would not be relishing the fact that on a 28 degree day, I had to lug THREE thirty pound bags of dog food into the house, and down into the basement, when I got home.

I was still running errands, when Mamacita called me, not once, not twice, but THREE times, and left me a voice message.  I don't answer my cell when I am driving, or when I am at the checkout counter in the NBLC!   I can't answer the call, listen to the message AND do what she asks, all at once. Jeepers!  I listened to the message. She had forgotten something somewhere, so I immediately went to retrieve the item she had left in a store downtown.  When we finally did speak, there was no explaining this to her, because by now she was in a bit of a tizzy. Pauvre Mamacita.  She hung up on me but did call back, with apologies.

I finally get home.  I no sooner have all my stuff lugged into the house, including all those bags of dog food, when a friend calls.  He needs my help, again.  I helped him register on POF on Sunday, but he doesn't know how to navigate his way through the website.  I am NO expert on online dating website sites, mind you, but he OBVIOUSLY thinks I am. I feel badly for him, so although it is almost six o'clock and Vimy and I haven't had supper, I tell him to come over.

I don't want to be logging in on his profile, but he really wants me to show him how to use the site. He has never been on POF.   I am so uncomfortable doing this, cruising through people's profiles, showing him how to respond, and search, since all this info should be so PRIVATE.  He insists he is fine with my seeing all these profiles.  So what happens?   I go into MAJOR PANIC ATTACK MODE!  I haven't had one this year, and suddenly I am clutching my chest, trying to breathe through the pain.  Meanwhile, he is totally enthralled with scrolling through the profiles.  Tout nouveau, tout beau, comme qu'on dit!  I don't know whether the attack has come on because I am so uncomfortable doing this for and with him, or because we are both looking at endless profile pictures of some gorgeous, single MEN!

I SHOULD have been prepared!

I wasn't... at all!  I should have been. I was a Girl Guide. I am organized.  However, what transpired this morning really could not have been prevented, I think. It was a P+E+R+F+E+C+T storm.

Mamacita and I were strolling back to her apartment, after having enjoyed a lovely coffee and French "biscuit sablé" outside on the patio, at the local bistro/café.  I was in a very Zen, relaxed mode, not Energizer Bunny mode like I usually am.  It was too warm and humid for that. Vimy had come along; I had him on an old leash, which turned out to be very unfortunate.  His good, expensive retractable leash is always hanging at the back door, ready to head out for a walk anytime.  His second, older retractable leash is always in Jiminy Cricket's trunk, but NOT today. I am going camping; I had already packed away this leash, with all my other gear, in the house, ready for our trip.  So, all I had was this relic, which I mistakenly thought would do FINE.

We rounded the corner to Mamacita's and were maybe 10 steps from the front door, when Vimy spotted a big, fat cat on the driveway of an apartment three doors up.  I had absolutely NO time to react, as Vimy took off like a bat out of hell, after that cat.  He pulled SO HARD, and so SUDDENLY, that the leash ripped in two. Vimy is a SPEEDING BULLET when he runs.

What followed was TOTAL BEDLAM!  Despite my screaming his name over and over,Vimy chased that cat all around the house and yard, with me in hot pursuit.  THAT male cat managed to get away by scrambling up a tree, but then a SECOND younger, declawed, female cat appeared. Vimy started tearing after that one,  like the mad dog he had suddenly become! THAT poor cat had a much harder time scrambling up the tree.  I watched in horror as Vimy pulled it down not ONCE, but TWICE, while HIS claws took what I think was fur, and perish the thought, chunks of flesh, out of THAT cat's backside. Vimy, who has never even so much as NIPPED at anyone or anything, had become a killer on the loose!

I am NOT the only one screaming. The landlady, whose in-law suite tenant was THE actual owner of the cats, was yelling at me!  WHY?  The actual owner of the cats, a sweet, little old lady, was hiding behind the screen door, terrified.  I managed to grab a hold of Vimy by his collar as he stopped to sniff around in some hedges.  I was so upset with him as I proceeded to lug him back to Mamacita's place. Another little, older white haired lady, across the lane from the rampage, is telling me (she is also hiding behind the screen door!) to bring Vimy to her to fix his leash.  I keep telling her, as I pull Vimy along, that my mother is just three doors up.  She finally says, "But you are CHOKING your dog."  I was, but by this point,Vimy is lucky I haven't choked him to death!

With Vimy safely locked in the car with the windows down enough, I returned to the scene of the crime to assess the damage.  The landlord has calmed down, realizing Vimy's leash broke. The older, male cat is back safely in the house, probably about to have a major CORONARY!

I ask the landlady to please let my mother know the outcome of Vimy's rampage through her back yard.  As I drive away, I am filled with CHAGRIN, MORTIFICATION and WORRY! The second cat has climbed even FURTHER up the tree, and she is NOT coming down.  What could I say? Call the fire department? That is what they do in the movies, isn't it?  Oh dear....