Just Let a Girl Buy Catnip Filled Lobsters in Peace

Today was a very exciting day. Today was the day I drove down to Portland to wander through the aisles of PetCo so I could fill a cart with all the things I need to make my home friendly for this kitten:



When I first got to the store, there was a girl near the door who told me to let her know if I needed help with anything. I smiled, said sure, and booked it back to the cat supplies. I had big decisions to make. I needed to find the right litter box, the right food dishes, the right kitten food, the right toys, and the right carrier because--as much as it pains me, the former owner of a very independent indoor/outdoor cat who would've clawed our faces off if ever we tried to stuff her into a duffel bag--I am going to now be those irritating owners of a very cosmopolitan, very travel-savvy kitten. When I go home for Christmas, for example, Abbey the Pink Nosed is going to come with me.

Well, when I got back to the cat section, a loafing employee--a guy with thick glasses who was just leaning against a stack of cat food--said, "If you have any questions, just let me know."

I smiled and nodded. I then proceeded to examine every row of cat supplies the store had to offer. I kept going back to the litter box area because that was one of the things that was stumping me the most. When I went back a third time, the employee said, "Questions? Let me know."

I didn't smile this time. I just nodded. I got it. I knew where I was supposed to go if I had questions.

When I rounded the food aisle the next time, he said, "You know, I'm a food specialist, so if you have any questions, please let me know."

I wanted to screech my cart to a stop. I wanted to tell him, "I KNOW. I UNDERSTAND. I AM NOT A MORON. I GET THAT YOU ARE THE GUY TO GO TO FOR INFORMATION. I. DON'T. NEED. ANY."

When I moved an aisle over to the cat beds, another employee came up to ask me if I needed any help. Another aisle over yet another employee wanted to know if he could be of any assistance.

I was two seconds from screaming. I just wanted to shop in peace, but in a ten minute span I had been hounded by four separate employees--and one of them got me several times. I understand the importance of personal contact with shoppers--I get why that's important--but I don't think asking them if they have any questions each time they round a corner is a winning strategy. All that cheery helpfulness in the name of a sale made me want to run screaming from the store. It was supposed to be a leisurely, fun experience, but instead I felt very watched, very monitored. I was downright claustrophobic. I felt that if I even furrowed my brow a smidge when reading a label, the PetCo people would descend on me and ask if they could please, please, pretty, pretty please help. And all I'd wanted in the first place was to giggle and read the suggested uses of the Kitty Laster Pointer 2.0--now with interchangeable shape pointers!

Still, I did manage to make it out of the store with most of the stuff I will need to transform my apartment into a kitten den. I got the litter box, the litter, the food dishes, the food, the cat bed, and several impressive toys which Abbey will get sick of in a week's time. But I'm hoping she'll have an extended love for the catnip-filled toys that came set shaped as a lobster and a crab. This is Maine, after all, and she better start getting used to seeing those things everywhere.