One December day, we found an old straggly cat at our door.  She was a sorry sight—starving, dirty, smelled terrible, skinny and hair all matted down.  We felt sorry for her, so we put her in a carrier and took her to the vet.  We didn’t know what to call her, so we named her “pu$$ycat.”

The vet decided to keep her for a day or so.  He said he would let us know when we could come and get her.  My husband (the complainer) said, “Okay, but don’t forget to wash her.  She stinks.”  He reminded the vet that it was his wife (me) who wanted the dirty cat, not him.

My husband and my vet don’t see eye to eye.  The vet calls my husband “El Cheap-O,” and my husband calls the vet “El Charge-O.”  They love to hate each other and constantly snipe at one another, with my husband getting in the last word on this particular occasion.