The cat is out to get me. Let me explain my reasoning.
A few nights ago, I was running late coming home from work. My wife and daughter had already eaten supper and were off living their lives leaving me home alone, with absolutely no adult supervision, to prepare my own meal. Stories that start out like this, more often than not, do not turn out well for me. This is no exception.
I didn't have any time to waste because in a short time, I would have to go pick my daughter up after her dance class. My wife had left pork chops in the crock pot thingy which is located right next to the fridge. It appeared that my only task would be to hunt down my own liquid refreshment. This might work out after all.
As I purposefully opened the door to the white, side-by-side refrigerator/freezer, I was pleased to witness a refreshing, two gallon pitcher of purple stuff on the top shelf. I have always been a big fan of purple stuff, whether it's made by the "Hey! Kool Aid!" guy or the fine folks at the Crystal Light corporation. Purple stuff has always been my drink of choice.
Unfortunately, on this occasion, my purple stuff was located directly behind a half-dozen water bottles and a smaller pitcher of a strange concoction my wife has developed called "cucumber/ lemon water." If you want the recipe, I believe that the drink involves cucumbers, some lemons and possibly water. She got it out of either Woman's Day, People or one of her other hippie magazines. She says that it's supposed to be healthy for you. I think that it's the most dangerous drink in the world. You'll soon find out why.
In order to get my delicious purple stuff, all of this other nonsense had to be moved out of the way. Since the crock pot thingy was taking up space on the counter, I started placing all the intrusive beverages on top of the fridge, on the freezer side, directly in front of the cereal box with Tony the Tiger on it, who possibly is another feline who would like to see harm fall upon the house of Wallace.
After getting everything moved and a nice cold glass of purple stuff poured out, I went to put the big pitcher back on the top shelf. It was at that very moment that Chubby meowed at me.
Not wanting to be anti-social, I meowed back. Chubby and I had a nice little kitty conversation as I stood there eating a pork chop and drinking some purple stuff. I find that if you eat the food directly out of the crock pot thingy, it's quicker and you don't dirty any plates.
After downing my plateless, time-sensitive, environmentally-friendly supper, I looked at my watch and pleasantly discovered that I had plenty of time until I had to pick up my daughter. So I informed Chubby that I thought I deserved a treat for my speedy gastronomical accomplishment. Remembering that there was still some chocolate-marshmallow ice cream in the freezer, I joyously reached for the stainless-steel handle.
As I swung the door open, my life changed. I felt a sharp pain, possibly in my cerebral cortex, and the world went briefly dark. Everything took on a fragrance of lemons and cucumber. Was this it? Had I breathed my last breath? Had I come to the end of my days? Was I in heaven?
The cat's laugh brought me out of my confused haze. Evidently, when Chubby distracted me, I forgot to put my wife's vile brew back in the fridge. It fell on my head when I opened the freezer. It's amazing how many square feet of kitchen floor a full gallon of water can cover when it comes crashing down from a height of approximately 6 feet. There were lemon and cucumber slices everywhere. But it did smell nice.
After messing up four or five of our nice bath towels, I realized that I probably should have used the kitchen rags or even a mop to push the excess water underneath the fridge. Oh well, live and learn. I didn't have time to think in my groggy state because I still had ice cream to eat and a daughter to pick up.
On the way back from dance class, I told my daughter what had transpired and made her promise that she would let me tell her mother what had happened right after I figured out a good story that would get me the most sympathy. She said OK, and I thought we had a deal. Right up until my wife's first step into the house, at which point my daughter said:
She remarkably said this all in one syllable. What a squealer! I'm beginning to think that she might be in cahoots with the cat.
After mentally deciphering what she had said, my wife turned to me and gave me that "How dare you break my cucumber/lemon water pitcher" look. I told her that if she just drank the purple stuff, none of this would have happened. The sympathy attempt wasn't going to work.
Meanwhile, the cat looked on …
You can contact Wallace at firstname.lastname@example.org. You can follow him on his blog at http://gregwallaceink.blogspot.com.