So here I sit with my strong coffee, reading the cat newsgroups as my wife
blissfully sleeps away the Saturday early morning hours. CharlieCat sleeps
on the bed behind me in the office/guest room, his 4 AM alarm clock duties
fulfilled. Chuckiebutt stares intently out the window above the kitchen sink.
I love the fragile silence of the wee morning hours for reading and
writing. That's why I left the dishes soaking in the sink last night, so I
could get to sleep earlier [grin]. I'll get to them as soon as I'm
finished with the newsgroups. No, really. I will.
Suddenly, without warning, a supernaturally loud CRASH! from the kitchen.
All hair standing straight up, I head out of the office door into the
hallway to the front of the house. A furry black shape travelling just
under Mach 1 streaks past me in the dark, nearly knocking me over. It
disappears into the back bedroom where my still-unconscious wife has
apparently lost her hearing.
Through the living room into the kitchen, dim light provided by a couple
of partly-concealed nightlights. Whooops! A pool of water on the waxed
linoleum floor catches me by surprise, sending me sliding toward the
refrigerator. Skating was never my strong point. Colliding with the
refrigerator, arms windmilling, I strive desperately for some traction.
There ain't none, so I surrender to gravity and take my place on the wet
floor. At this point, I picture my mate turning over comfortably under the covers.
Recovering from the concussion, I find and flick the light switch. Water.
Everywhere. Floor, walls, window, counter, cabinets -- even the
refrigerator, for Pete's sake. Soapy, dish-soaking water, slippery and
cold. Did I say "everywhere"? Allow me to amend that to "everywhere but
the sink".
It's easy to deduce what happened. No Holmes or Watson needed.
Chuckie--who's been putting on a few extra ounces lately -- must have
slipped while trying to negotiate a turn on the narrow sill. He's such a
water sissy. He must've thought he'd landed in Hell. In his frantic
escape, he managed to turn over the dishpan, the drying rack, and the
spice rack, spreading the wealth of his misadventure all around the room.
Everything must have happened all at once, because I heard just the one
crash. I can just see him skidding all over the place trying to get out of
the kitchen.
I found Chuckie quietly drip-drying himself next to my wife on the bed. He
made a tiny "peep" sound as I gathered him up off the soggy spot.
I just take it as a sign that I'm supposed to do the dishes *before*
retiring. My wife will be very happy to find a clean kitchen on her
awakening; she'll be less so about the wet comforter on the bed. Funny how
cat owners learn to find the silver lining, though.
I am very grateful for not stubbing my sore toe on any of the heavy pots
lying on the floor.
Copyright © Keith Keber
February 27, 1999
Read Keith's Kitten Poem
