I just spent the entire afternoon having a major panic attack. I couldn’t find my wallet … my small, red, credit card wallet containing my ID, several bank cards, several un-used gift cards, and ALL that mad money I have been saving for months for who knows what. Yes, I couldn’t find my wallet, and I spent hours weeping, tearing the house apart, tearing the truck apart, walking around in the yard, calling stores, and even … digging through the trash bin piece by disgusting piece. Yes, I dug through the trash. It was my last hope. My wallet wasn’t there, and I may never eat again after the trash experience.

I then gave up and sat at my desk and cried huge, fat tears.

Then I thought to check the bank statement to see if anyone had used it. We only buy things at a few select places, so anything odd would stand right out. Nothing but the few things we bought the last few days. Phew. People usually rape credit cards as soon as they find/steal them, though I did have the thought that they might have been so thrilled with the cash that was in it they didn’t care about the cards. Cash can’t be traced. Neither can the gift cards. Or maybe it was just really, really lost somewhere.

I cried some more huge, fat tears. Then … I gave up all hope.

Fine. Fine! My wallet, my money, my bank cards, my gift cards, my ID … all gone. My mad money. MY MAD MONEY!!! It was the mad money making me the maddest. It takes me forever to save pennies here and there to get enough together to blow on myself on something useless (but fun). I’d planned to go shopping soon to get me some cool new kitchen things.

I cried a few more huge, fat tears for the gadgets I wasn’t going to get.

I decided to go look in the living room one more time. I moved the furniture again. I dug around in the couch. I picked up anything I knew had been added to the mess since Saturday. No luck. I’d already checked all these locations at least two or three times, so I don’t know what I was expecting.

Then I picked up the edge of the large rug.

There, nestled among an odd assortment of cat-chewed guitar picks, q-tips with the cotton chewed off them, mangled and tooth-marked straws, a few chopsticks, and a bunch of dust, was one small, red, slightly cat-chewed credit card wallet. Cat … chewed. There’s only one cat in this house that runs off with anything made of tasty, chewable plastic, and that would be RONIN. I’d kill him, but he wouldn’t understand why I was killing him, so it seems rather pointless. Besides, I am so thrilled to have my wallet back, even if it is slightly cat-chewed, now all I want to do is take a nap. It’s amazing how tiring panic attacks can be, isn’t it?

Though I am left wondering how he gets all that stuff under the rug in the first place. Apparently he does it in the dark of night while we are asleep, because I have never seen him fussing with the rug at all.

So my plan to run to the store since the weather was nice and then come home and finish up those posts I keep promising are coming was foiled by one tubby grey cat with a plastic fetish. Well at least now I know where he hides the stuff and can check there anytime something plastic goes missing. Little bratty, plastic-loving, freak of a cat!

I never got a nap today, and let me tell you, three hours of sleep is not enough to fuel a full-blown panic attack. It’s awfully late to be taking a nap, but I have to grab a few winks or I will never make it until our late-night shows come on.

Tomorrow is going to be a better day. Tomorrow is going to be a better day.