Cat Fud

I like Gary Larson, I was always very impressed how well he told a story without telling a story. Much like Hemingway's six-word novel "For Sale: Baby shoes. Never used." It's the way he let his audience do the narrating that made his cartoons so good.

My favorite was always the kid trying to get into the gifted and talented school by pushing on a door marked "pull". (I tried to get a picture of that one to put up here but all the ones on the internet have been edited so the sign says things like "College", "Masters Degree Program" and "West Palm Beach Voting Commission" so I gave up. Damn Photoshop.)

However, there was another one that flashed into my head last night.

Our kitty, the goddess of springtime Persephone, lives in the bedroom. She rarely leaves her little haven, except for the occasionally trips to the living room to let her minions (Husband and I) know it is time for bed and the subsequent kitty-cuddle-time that comes with in. She also leaves in order to get to her food, water and box that lives in the washing machine room. That's it. She doesn't explore the empty boxes, she isn't interested in the new furniture in the office, she likes the bedroom and the cat-food room.

Since she's so timid I wasn't worried last night when I left the dryer open while I carried the first load of laundry upstairs. When I came back down I didn't bother to look around. C. was already in bed and snoring, Persephone was probably curled up with him. Once I got this load into the dryer I could join them.

So I start throwing wet uniforms and slacks into the dryer as fast as I could. Big wads of wet cloth flying into the dryer, I'm not worried about the thunk, ka-thunk noise it's making. That's normal. However, the meow noise I hear as I grab a dryer sheet is a little odd. I look around the door into the hall. No kitty. I pad over to the kitchen. No kitty. I shrug, she's a little kitty but she has a big voice, she was probably talking to C. upstairs. Back to the dryer, throw in the sheet, double check the trap, then something catches my eye.

Did those pants just move? Yes, yes they did. And that shirt is definitely wiggling. I watch with more than a little trepidation, I'm wondering what kind of animal is sneaky enough to get into the house and if I really wanna stick my hand in and grab it. The shirt starts sliding, then it says me-ooooooooooow.

Kitty?

The shirt falls and there is a semi damp and very grouchy cat head peering out at me.

Oh poor poor kitty!!! Commence the rescuing followed by cooing and fawning. Poor little Persephone. She was so brave only to get stuff thrown at her. She's never going to come downstairs again. As I'm fluffing her up and smothering her in cuddles this Farside cartoon pops into my head:



Thank goodness we don't have a dog!