Finding my feng shui

Mr. Dreemer is a 35-year-old entrepreneur. Right now, he is in the process of writing several books but has yet to finish one. The consulting business he runs from his home will do very well if it ever gets any clients.

The truth is that he plans to hit it big someday, even though he never earned a penny in his life. Fortunately for him, his parents, who are quite well off, seem to have no problem supporting him until "his ship comes in." What they do not realize is that it's not a ship—it's a canoe. And it sank about two days after he was born. Were it not for his parents, he would be a hobo.

However, now and then, Dreemer does have a great idea (so he says). In fact, two years ago, he had one of his brainstorms right in my office.

"Doctor, you have some real problems here," Dreemer said. "I notice that your office is a bottleneck of negative energy. The feng shui is all wrong. Are you familiar with the ancient Chinese art of arranging furniture and objects to maximize the positive forces of nature?" (In my office, the only force of nature that matters is me.)

"I'm starting a new consulting business," he continued. "I am a feng shui adviser. Your office would run much more efficiently if you let me show you how to rearrange your equipment to be more in tune with nature. For example, that table should be over here by the light switch."

What he was suggesting would result in the table sitting right in the doorway. Only cats or small children would be able to enter or leave that room.

"Don't laugh, doctor," he continued. "Those of us who study these things know that feng shui is very important, especially this year. You know, it is the Year of the Ox." (Seemed like the year of Bull to me.)

Now, I'm sure there are clients out there who would be willing to hire a feng shui adviser, possibly in New York or Los Angeles, but probably not in Macungie, Pa. He left the office somewhat disappointed with my attitude, but he was back the following year with another idea: tai chi for cats.

"You know, doctor," he said, "many people do these slow deliberate tai chi exercise movements every morning. Why not cats?"

He offered to give a demonstration, and I couldn't resist. We scheduled it for the following afternoon. I called my entire staff together for the show.

"Believe me! You're not going to want to miss this," I told them.

He began by placing his cat, Gumby, on the reception counter. He held the somewhat limp feline by the elbows and proceeded to hold the cat in different positions. Each move came with the announcement of the Chinese name of the position.

"I do this a half hour every morning," he explained. "Someday soon, Gumby will have absorbed enough positive energy and attitude that he will do the entire exercise routine without my guidance. I will simply call out the name of each posture, and he will automatically move to that position."

As far as I could tell, Gumby didn't even wake up during the demonstration. As it turned out, tai chi for cats never actually took off. (Really?) However, Dreemer had another sure-fire career plan a few months later.

"I'm going to need your help with a great new idea, doc," he said. "Have you heard of that movie Kung Fu Panda? It gave me an idea. Why not martial arts for dogs? I could teach a class right here in your hospital. One or two evenings a week would do. I even have a name for the class, Tai Kwan Dog. Pretty clever, huh? All we have to do is move the furniture out of your reception room and hold the classes right here."

Naturally, I turned him down. Not because his idea was ridiculous, which it was, but because I didn't want to move the furniture and mess up my feng shui.

Dr. Obenski owns Allentown Clinic for Cats in Allentown, Pa.

For a complete list of articles by Dr. Obenski, visit http://dvm360.com/obenski