The wife and I have been back and forth to the local Petco for all manner of kitty supplies over the past few days. After three trips to the same store, I have noticed that every employee appears to have a serious drug problem. Sunday we rolled in with our new pussy to get some Meow Mix and a litter box. Our cashier who reeked of cigarettes, wore a bad perm and had fewer teeth than a jack-o-lantern asked us for the inane details regarding our feline. Tuesday we patronize the store for a litter box scoop and a spray bottle (or "Instant Kitty Be Good" as I call it) and the same cashier waits on us and proceeds to ask us the same questions as if she has never seen us before. The topper was this afternoon when I took back a food dish. A cashier with a female golf coach haircut smelling of pot waited on me. She had to call the manager over to approve the return. When the manager arrives, I am frightened with her countenance as she looks more strung out than Andy Dick, has pockmarks all over her face and has not one tooth in her head. As I walk out to the parking lot a Petco employee is smoking cigarettes and pretending to be collecting carts. Good times, Westminster Petco. Good times.

Labels: kitty, l-i-v-i-n, wife