I can ignore tasks with the best of them. Some tasks, such as cleaning under furniture, can be shelved so deeply in the layers of my to-do list that they are very nearly afforded a geological existence. Other tasks, such as cleaning the fridge, merely need a gentle nudge of reality to move me away from inaction. If I focus very intently on a project, I can often ignore the subtle clues tapping softly for attention.

And so it was that, after several days of working in the yard in response to my growing excitement over the arrival of warmer weather, I couldn't help but notice that the cat was parading around in diapers. My first thought, of course, was "good...maybe the dogs will finally get a clue and that will certainly free up some of my time to continue to ignore the noises recently emanating from the fridge."

However, feline determination combined with calls from my neighbors (how is it that nobody even blinks when folks dress up a little dog in a tube-top, school girl dress and pumps, but let your cat out wearing Depends and the neighborhood gossips come out in full force) prompted me to move into swift, albeit slightly unfocused action.

I finally gave up trying to locate pull-ups in a size that wouldn't simply drop down around my cat's ankles and decided that perhaps the point that my hapless feline was attempting to drive into my skull might have something to do with the litterbox. Febreeze can only do so much apparently.

Off I trooped to the local grocery store for fresh litter, having come to realization that I have a very disturbed cat who was growing increasingly morose. Nothing chafes worse than ill-fitting Pampers and those bald spots on her thighs are gonna be hard to explain to the vet. Lucky for both of us, you can buy litter these days in the 60 pound tub...which for me, given my propensity for task avoidance, could last an entire year. That and a little salve for puss-puss and homeward bound I go.

It was whilst pouring out my cat's future bathroom necessity that I came across the really disturbing item. When did they start packing food samples in the middle of litter? I'm happily filling up the supply bin while my furry charge dances around the bathroom crossing her legs (always the over-acting with this one) when out from the tub drops a brightly wrapped tin of tuna. "Free Sample!" the packaging shouts. Forgive me for finding this slightly inappropriate. Wouldn't this be a bit like rolling M&M's inside your charmin? Tucking tootsie rolls lovingly within the folds of Cottonelle? God, I can just imagine the advertising now..."softer, more gentle on your skin...and now for a limited time, enjoy the tasty goodness of Kuner's Creamed Corn fresh from the farm in every roll."

I would think a more appropriate item to include would be a nice, portable, shower screen for the cat. Something that she could have quickly available for those long, badly timed tongue baths she's so fond of scheduling during dinner time. And don't tell me she can take a couple of extra minutes for my sanity. I mean, look how good she got with the Huggies.

I love going to zoos. It is one of the rare times in my day that I am presented with the incredible. Rarely during our routine are we faced with things that make us stop and take pause, things so out of the ordinary that we are at a loss for words. Visiting a zoo affords one the opportunity, for example, to stand next to a full grown male tiger, separated only by a thick pane of, hopefully, shatterproof plexiglass. During such a visit one might begin to get a sense that there are, perhaps, things in the world larger and more awesome than who stuffed what fabric into whose mouth on that one reality show that we hopefully remembered to Tivo.

Yesterday I spent a little time lost in the unblinking gaze of such a tiger, separated by said plexiglass, thinking absently that gosh his head was pretty big, which by flow of logic implied an equally large mouth which, of course, suggested a rather nasty set of largish teeth. As I stood there lost in vague thoughts, idly watching small kids crouched in front of this massive beast, their parents encouraging them to snug in closer so that they could frame the photo better for Aunt Betty who really did love zoos just not the crowds that zoos encouraged, the tiger yawned. A slow, deliberate yawn that started with a slight nose twitch that could have easily ended with a cute wrinkle of his lip but instead progressed with a horrible intensity, revealing sharp teeth designed not to entertain and amuse so much as to rend, tear and rip. It was a yawn that spoke volumes, predator to prey. It said "I know you, I know your fear and your weakness...I know how fast you can run and I know the taste of your ancestor's flesh."

I couldn't help but notice everyone in the room gave a slight, involuntary step back as nervous giggles filled the sudden void of fearful silence. The reptilian parts of several brains in the room were no doubt desperately trying to connect with the evolved simian lobes (who were doubtless busy with the bowel-voiding portion of the fight-or-flight checklist) to file a strong suggestion that now might be a great time to start running, and, if there was time, it would really be keen if you could work up some mindless gibbering. I like to think that for a brief moment in time the collective group completely forgot about whether they remembered to Tivo American Idol, if they were paying too much for insurance or if their kitchen counters really were deep down clean. The visceral realization that, yes, your head will in fact fit easily within that maw will tend to do that. Especially if, like us, your promotion to the top of the food chain is a relatively recent one. There was a moment of brief disappointment on my part as not one visitor scooped up their offspring and sprinted out the door, although I did take a couple of surreptitious steps towards the exit until my own brain was able to assure me that I had not recently read of any plexiglass warranty related lawsuits.