Whose turn is it . . .

everyone understands the premise behind American Idol, Dancing with the Stars and the rest of that genre . . . you vote for your favorite and the contestants cringe each week waiting to see if it is their turn to go. They are ecstatic to be able to stay another week. They are SAFE. We have our own version in the cave. On any given day of a veterinarian appointment, I drag out the cat carrier and place it in the front hall. Door open. Then we watch the . . er . . . contestants. Each hoping it is NOT their turn to go. This morning, Snoop took one look, did an about face and ran so fast it took a minute to get some traction on the tile floor. Moak took one look and rolled his eyes and tried to bury his very fat body under the sofa. Think ostrich mentality here. Bru, looked and kept on going, as in I am too cool to be bothered by this. I am king. It is not I. Unfortunately, it WAS the king today and he protested the entire trip. Not only did they do one blood test, they ended up having to do another, all this on top of having had to fast since midnight. He was inconsolable not to mention starving. The bottom line is that that Bru is old and sick and won't be around for too many more rounds of elimination in the "whose turn is it now to go to the vet" game. This is one game that stinks. And I hate it. Any and all prayers for Bru would be gratefully appreciated.