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The noise from the kitchen sounds like an epic, multi-bowl failure to save vs. gravity.
We have Corelle bowls for pretty much everything, and that clatter sounded like the hard plastic bowls we use for cat food. I'm guessing that the incident does not involve food for human people, but I could be wrong.
Survey says I should go upstairs and help, which, given the amount of time that has passed since the noise, means I should go upstairs and admire the fine work of whoever actually cleaned up.
I'm sure many¹ of you have been waiting with bated breath for some form of conclusion to this dramatic arc, so I shall endeavor to provide one, despite the fact that it shines a very unflattering² light on me.
¹ "many" here can be interpreted to mean "at least three."
² I'm a 53-year-old male with a sedentary career. With echoes of "in the dark, all cats are black," I can confidently state that "on me, all lights are unflattering."
² I'm a 53-year-old male with a sedentary career. With echoes of "in the dark, all cats are black," I can confidently state that "on me, all lights are unflattering."
The noise, as it happens, was the cats adding insult to injury.
The injury was that Sandra entered the kitchen hangry, and the counter was covered with the mess I'd made feeding myself and our two youngest (who, at 17 and 19, are not really all that young.)
The injury was that Sandra entered the kitchen hangry, and the counter was covered with the mess I'd made feeding myself and our two youngest (who, at 17 and 19, are not really all that young.)
Ordinarily I do better at "clean as you go," but like most human-passing sophonts, I fail at stuff, and today's lunch was one such occasion. So... the kitchen was a mess.
Aaaand it was my fault.
Unrelated to my mess, one of the kitchen stool-chairs was standing on an unbalanced bit of floor - the caution-taped-and-very-annoying seam between the new flooring (remodeling goes slowly) and the old.
BOTH cats were on the stool.
BOTH cats were on the stool.
(NOTE: I am assembling this narrative from @SandraTayler's account of events, which was delivered AFTER I was roundly-but-kindly scolded for arriving late to the party. Moving on, then...)
Two cats, one barstool, uneven floor. It looked cute, so Sandra left the room to grab her phone. Cat pix are for happy, and hangry can sometimes be offset with the happy from good cat pix.
(NARRATOR: sometimes. Not THIS time, but sometimes.)
(NARRATOR: sometimes. Not THIS time, but sometimes.)
When she returned, Milo had hopped off the stool. The window for photogenic cat-cuteness was already closed.
Then Callie leaped from the stool to the counter, propelling the stool in the direction of its existing imbalance. Cats may disobey physical laws, but furniture cannot.
Then Callie leaped from the stool to the counter, propelling the stool in the direction of its existing imbalance. Cats may disobey physical laws, but furniture cannot.
We have now reached the point where MY part of the adventure begins—the part where I heard a noise, correctly assessed the components of the noise, and grossly underestimated the catastrophic (*ahem) nature of the unfolding situation.
"Unfolding" is not the right word.
The stool landed on the edge of the cafeteria tray upon which sits the plastic cat food bowls (full) and the kitty watering station (also, as it happens, full). This resulted in a sort of catapult (*ahem again.)
"Cascading" is a better word.
The stool landed on the edge of the cafeteria tray upon which sits the plastic cat food bowls (full) and the kitty watering station (also, as it happens, full). This resulted in a sort of catapult (*ahem again.)
"Cascading" is a better word.
Kibble, three bowls, a filtered watering station, and a cafeteria tray all arced independently across the kitchen, followed closely by a few syllables of colorful metaphor, which, because of the location of my office, I did not actually hear.
To my credit, and I'm in dire need of a bit of that right now, had I heard the epithets, I would have opted to run upstairs rather than posting a Twitter survey.
I heard a falling stool and some cat dishes, and did NOT assume "extemporaneous kibble trebuchet." Weird, I know.
I heard a falling stool and some cat dishes, and did NOT assume "extemporaneous kibble trebuchet." Weird, I know.
Fast forward through the boring bits. Sandra began cleaning up. I posted a Twitter survey. 35 of 60 respondents said I should go upstairs, so I did.
By the time I arrived, the floor was clean, and the counter looked much better than I had left it.
By the time I arrived, the floor was clean, and the counter looked much better than I had left it.
Sandra and I then had a very even-keeled discussion about how infuriating it is to have NOBODY COME RUNNING when there are disaster noises in the kitchen. The 17yo and 19yo were within earshot, and even though they had headsets on (co-op gaming) they heard the racket.
Yes, I apologized. And I told Sandra about the survey. And she acknowledges that 35 of you are wiser, kinder people than I am.
The remaining 25 people? She gives you the benefit of the doubt. You probably only picked the FUNNY answer because it wasn't YOUR kitchen.
The remaining 25 people? She gives you the benefit of the doubt. You probably only picked the FUNNY answer because it wasn't YOUR kitchen.
I then went downstairs and had words with the kiddos, explaining that even though Sandra did not explicitly yell "HELP! KITCHEN DISASTER!" we should all be the kinds of people who, when we here clattering and epithets from the kitchen, poke our heads in to OFFER help.
argh. here/hear.
I thought I might make it through this without glaring typographicals, but nope.
I thought I might make it through this without glaring typographicals, but nope.
The typo'd tweet is the salient point, the theme, and the author's soapbox.
We should all be the sorts of people who, when we hear distress, offer such help as we're able to provide.
Even if the mess isn't our fault. ESPECIALLY if the mess isn't our fault.
We should all be the sorts of people who, when we hear distress, offer such help as we're able to provide.
Even if the mess isn't our fault. ESPECIALLY if the mess isn't our fault.
Because for creatures so obsessive about grooming, cats do a spectacularly bad job at cleaning up after themselves.
