Only to Me

My life is incredibly complicated. Normal situations, if they involve me, will become so ridiculous and unimaginable that when I re-tell them, people think I'm joking.

Like how I got sent to Celebrity Rehab, or when I saw a possum dive bomb into a pile of leaves, or any story involving the crazy cat lady who lives across the street. Without exaggerating or changing any details, my life reads like a David Sedaris memoir.

This weekend I was supposed to go to animal control to look at a dog that I was hoping to adopt. I called them beforehand to make sure things were on the up and up, because I didn't want to drive all that way (20 minutes) and then have the dog be gone or dead or something. Here's the weirdness that went down:

Turns out the dog, currently named Meathead, is involved in a court case, and therefore is currently not adoptable. He was seized from a home because his owner didn't feed him, and now the woman is in court trying to get Meathead back. ShelterMan told me that when they invaded her house to get the dog, they found eight cats, some birds, two ferrets, and probably like, dishes on the floor of the bathroom or some such nasty.

The plan now is to wait until the trial, which is on Tuesday, and then call back to find out the verdict. If Meathead is free from the probable terrors of his previous home, then I can find out what animal shelter he was transferred to, and then go through the process of adopting him from THAT shelter. I guess animal control isn't really a shelter, just a place for you to wait until your trial... like jail.

Doesn't that sound like a fake story? At first I didn't believe the guy when he told me, so I don't know why someone would believe me if I told them. BUT IT'S TRUE. I could be on This American Life. I have enough stories for a weekly feature. Oy.