The Ballard Bunch

Once again as a mom, I've given in and done something I said I would never do.

Introducing Oreo.

And, in true Ballard style, his welcome to our family was not without-excitement.

Lets just say, Shanna and I had a particularly "Lucy and Ethel" night last night.

Oreo came to us in a box. A cute, decorative, free-air-flowing, with a lid box. His transition from birth mother to adoptive overlapped about 3 hours of work, so his presence was kept especially "mum". Such cooperation - not so much as a purr came from the box and we were only surprised by the occasional paw pop out of the large side hole.

At break time, I thought I should give him a breather, so I took him to a small conference room next to our area, gave him a small amount of water and shut the door. Returning a short few minutes later to repackage the cat for the remainder of my shift, a major problem arose.

Locked door. No key. Totally busted.

You see, my employer has {as do most companies, I'd assume} a fairly strict "no pets" policy. And understandably so. And trust me when I say, it's a very rare day indeed {think like never before} that I carry an animal in a box with me about town. I don't know about you, but I try not to make it a habit of carrying around with me anything living that I haven't given birth to myself.

So as we scramble to find ways to unlock the door, visions of Oreo {I keep typing Orem} peeing on the computer, destroying the conference room chairs, etc. are flowing through my mind. I'm in panic mode at this point. Where are the cleaning people that constantly frequent our building? Is tonight their night off? Guess so.

And so, out of desperation and necessity, I inquire about a key. And that's when the words come, "Do I hear a cat?"

In that moment I was five years old again and reluctantly confessing to my mother one of the many atrocities I'd subjected my brother to.

"Yes," I said, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Eye rolls follow, pleading ensues, apologies flow like the "Salmon of Capistrano". {D&D reference there for you. You're welcome.}

And to his credit, my supervisor was relatively cool. He even fashioned a make-shift slim jim to try and bust the kitty free. No luck.

"Let's just try the keys," he says. Doubtful, we all watch and listen.

No.

No.

No.

Wait. Is that the door?

Yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now all I have to do is buy the guy pizza on Wednesday. Small price to pay for keeping my job, right?

Within the course of one evening I cried, almost died laughing {Shanna was pretty much gone the whole time - she has an issue being amused at the trauma of others. Ask her.}, cried again, tried to be a locksmith and a burglar, talked to pervs {ahhhh, what a great job}, drake more Diet Dr. Pepper than should be humanly allowed and became an official cat owner.

Welcome home, Oreo.