Trauma

I just hung up from a dramatic emergency and rescue call. M called, and it seems that Bub got her head stuck in a peanut butter jar.

Now, lest you think we have dirty peanut butter jars lying around our home, you should know that this particular jar's purpose is to carefully measure out the exact amount of dog food when feeding the dogs. While I have asked for it to be kept IN THE DOG FOOD BIN, apparently it is better kept in the kitchen. FOR CATS TO GET THEIR HEADS STUCK IN!!

So there I am at work, a fair distance away, mid-project, talking my child through emergency extraction procedures. She keeps telling me that she can't get it off, she doesn't want to hurt her. I am envisioning myself having to tell my boss that I have to leave to remove the cat's head from a jar. Or to tell the police that I am speeding home to save my cat from suffocation. Or to have to pick up a dead cat with its head stuck in the peanut butter jar.

Thankfully, I calmly talked her through the procedure like a seasoned 911 operator. She extracted the kitty and PUT THE JAR BACK IN THE DOG FOOD BIN!

Where it will STAY. Right, B?