Curiosity didn’t kill our cat, but it came within a foot. I was cooking eggs for breakfast and throwing the shells into the sink, and mostly hitting the target. My target was the disposal. The cat thinking it was a game jumped on the counter and started swatting the shells as they traced an arc between the stove and the sink.
I’ve been training the cat to stay off the counter. I use a bottle of water with its spray nozzle set on stream, but the bottle was across the room and so I made do with the tools at hand.
I only meant to scare him. I never imagined that he would put his foot in the disposal. I never imagined when I flipped the switch that he would swat the last remaining shell from the counter to the sink and through the black rubber fingers that guard the entrance to the whirling blades below. I never imagined that the cat would reach for the shell and try to prevent its descent.
I tried to turn off the disposal, but I’m not as quick as a cat. His paw disappeared into hole, he shrieked, and jumped from the sink onto the floor and disappeared. The cat’s hiding, and I can’t find him. I don’t see a trail of blood, and I checked the disposal, no paw there. But then there wouldn’t be would there. I hope he’s okay.
It’s a few days later now, and I still haven’t seen the cat. My wife says he’s just fine no thanks to me.
“I wrote about it,” I said. “Have you read it?”
“Yes, I read your story,” she said. “You’re writing more now,” she said, “and you’re lying more too.”
“Lying,” I said. “I’m not lying they’re embellishments.”
“Lies,” she said.
“Simple exaggeration,” I said.
“Lies,” she replied.
“Poetic license,” I retorted.
“Lies,” she insisted.
“The stories are mostly anecdotal, mostly,” I said.
“The stories are mostly lies,” she said.
“They are the way I remember them,” I said.
“Right,” she said, “you and Scooter.”
No related posts.
Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.
Roomie is a writer of what is known officially as the genre of “creative non-fiction”. Figure that one out… Sounds like a self-proclaiming paradox…
She has coached me a bit as I have struggled to write some of my stories, all of which are absolutely true, no lies. Some of the things I remember her saying are: Never embellish. Add enough creative detail to draw the reader in, but never so much as to change the basic story. I look at that like putting sprinkles on an iced cake. The whole becomes a bit more interesting without being changed in any significant way.
Agree with your wife by admitting, “Yes, dear, true lies.”
I tried Winston, but now she’s accusing me of lying about her calling me a liar.
You guys are too funny! I read the blog and your comments to my husband as we motor southwards out of Oklahoma back home. And he laughed. No lie. No embellishment.
Really.
The cat hasn’t dissappeared for long. He’s just taking a short paws
They’ll always stick up for the cat before they stick up for you.