Unreliable

Alright, let me tell you a story, and I swear on my grandma’s cat’s life that every word of this is true… mostly.

It all started one Wednesday morning. Or was it Thursday? Doesn’t matter. The important part is, I woke up in my apartment—my very well-organized, totally not messy apartment—and I was ready to conquer the day. Now, some people might say I overslept until noon and had cereal for lunch. But those people don’t understand my commitment to brunch. Also, who are they to judge what’s an appropriate meal? The milk was still good, and the cereal had a healthy number of marshmallows.

Anyway, after my nutritious breakfast, I embarked on the most dangerous mission of the day: taking my cat, Whiskers, to the vet. Whiskers is… let’s say, an independent spirit. Some people claim he’s just a regular cat, but I swear he has ninja training. I’ve seen him do backflips when I try to put him in the carrier. And not just any backflips—Olympic-level backflips.

So, I had to outsmart him. I lured him into the carrier using my unparalleled cat whisperer skills—okay, fine, it was tuna. Don’t look at me like that; you’d use tuna too if you had a feline Bruce Lee living with you.

The vet’s office was a different challenge altogether. I’m pretty sure they run it like a secret government facility. You need a degree in ancient code-breaking to understand their forms. The receptionist, who may or may not have been an undercover agent, gave me a look that said, “This person definitely does not know how to fill out paperwork.” I’ll admit, I may have written “very fluffy” under “species,” but that’s just an accurate description.

Once we got into the exam room, things got intense. The vet—a very serious-looking guy in a lab coat, probably a genius, though he never mentioned it—asked if Whiskers had been getting his exercise. Now, I know what you’re thinking: cats don’t need structured exercise, right? Well, I told the vet all about Whiskers’ training regimen. I explained that he practices parkour, climbs furniture with the agility of a mountain goat, and leaps onto kitchen counters like a panther. The vet’s expression stayed remarkably neutral, but I’m sure he was impressed.

After the checkup (Whiskers was in perfect health, no surprise there), I made my way home, ready to relax. But little did I know, the adventure was far from over.

As I approached my apartment door, I heard something. A faint buzzing sound. My heart raced—was it a burglar? Aliens? A robot uprising? I bravely pushed open the door, ready to face whatever danger awaited inside.

It was… my phone, vibrating on the counter. Turns out, I had left it there before going to the vet. Classic me! I checked the messages and realized that *this* was the moment I’d been waiting for all week: my online game group was about to start a major quest, and I was already late.

I jumped into the action, keyboard clicking, mouse flying, and within an hour, I had single-handedly—well, maybe my team helped a bit—defeated the biggest boss in the game. Victory was ours! My friends cheered over voice chat, hailing me as the hero of the day. I mean, I’m sure they were cheering. Their microphones were just glitchy, so I couldn’t hear the applause. But I knew it was there.

Finally, with my cat safe, my virtual enemies vanquished, and my pride intact, I settled onto the couch. The day had been a wild ride, but I’d come out on top, as usual.

Oh, right, I should probably mention that some might say I “accidentally ordered pizza for the third night in a row” because I was too “tired to cook” after the vet. But really, it was a strategic choice. After all, who am I to say no to a good slice of pepperoni?

In the end, everything worked out perfectly. Whiskers was fine, my gaming reputation remained untarnished, and I was a culinary genius—at least when it came to picking pizza toppings. Life was good, and I’d conquered the day. Mostly.

And if you don’t believe me, well, that’s your choice. But I swear—cross my heart and hope to trip over a LEGO—this is all pretty much how it happened. More or less. Maybe.