Sunday, July 28, 2013

Mystery Solved

It took me two and a half days to find the tiny bottle of prescription eyedrops that wandered off my desk in the wee hours of Friday morning. In short: I was fully outsmarted by a 10-ml. bottle and two kittens.

I spent an embarrassing amount of Friday hunting for that bottle. I vacuumed, using my handy-dandy Miele crevice tool under our Mission-style bookcases. It picks up scads of toys each time I use it, so it should have easily picked up the bottle. I'd already looked under those bookcases three times with a flashlight, on my hands and knees. I'd also poked around in the fireplaces, closets, under my husband's desk (where there's a viper's nest of cables), under all the furniture and the cushions, and in every other logical and illogical place. I ransacked my desk and even checked the medicine cabinet in case I'd forgotten I'd put it away. My husband took our many rolling bins out from under the bed, which is a pain, with no results.

I called our vet, who assured me that the bottle was too big for a cat to swallow. It seemed crazy to even ask, but with Toffee all things are possible.

The pharmacist told me my insurance wouldn't cover a replacement, and I couldn't get a refill for 10 days. I didn't want to pay full price when that bottle had to be Somewhere. I kept looking and thinking.

Tonight, I performed an experiment. When Harris visited my desk, he found a similar bottle of artificial tears. He knocked it to the floor with a practiced paw as I watched. Toffee, down below, was pleased to see the bottle. I did some discreet documentation as I pretended to fuss with my phone:


Harris joined him, and they took turns rolling the bottle around and biting it:


Eventually, I was spotted, but I'd already solved the crime:

The jig is up, Mr. McBeastie.

As I watched them, I realized that the kittens are getting lazier, being nearly a year old. From the looks of them, they wouldn't have rolled that bottle very far. This discovery sent me to the nearest place for that bottle to get lost: the bookcases. Again. With my brightest flashlight, I got down on my side this time, so I could peer under them from every angle and — gasp!— there it was, deep in a corner. It had eluded three prior searches and my handy-dandy crevice suction tool. 

I fished it out with a wooden spoon, gave myself a dose, and put it in the medicine cabinet, which Toffee doesn't know how to open. yet. 

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