Monday, September 17, 2012
Chats du jour: Stuck!
Last night, Laverne was playing with the paper bag with the twine handles. I brought it home ten days ago with my restaurant leftovers, planning to save it for a time when I might need a small paper bag with twine handles. But I didn't put it away right away and the cats thought it was a toy just for them. They climbed inside the bag, the climbed out. They dragged it on the floor. Shirley got in the bag, Laverne pounced on the bag with Shirley in it, Shirley ran out of the bag - usual cat stuff. After a few hours of cat toyness, the bag was not suitable for other use, so I just left it on the floor - next to the box that my eBay Ferragamos arrived in - as more evidence that we are a household run by cats and SH and I serve as their staff. Cat-less folks do not have empty boxes and bags on their kitchen floor. Cat-less folks do not have furry toys and feather stuff on their floors. Cat-less folks do not have cat vomit on their floors.
Sometimes I envy cat-less folks.
Laverne - not Shirley, as I would expect, as Shirley is the pretty cat, not the smart cat - kept getting her head caught in the handle. Which led to a paper-bagged cat walking around the house. Which I let drag on for more than a few minutes because it is funny to watch your cat walk around with a small paper bag attached to her body. The look Laverne gave me - the "What happen is THAT?" - is also fun to watch.
Not so fun for her, but fun for me. I know, I'm a big meany for letting my cat be encumbered by a paper bag. Sue me.
Last night, SH saw Laverne get her head caught in the handle. I resorted to my usual snickering, but SH said, "She could strangle on that!"
Pfft, I dismissed him.
But then I thought, "How dumb would I feel if Laverne did indeed strangle? Perhaps I should do something to prevent such an event from coming to pass."
"Fine," I said. "I'll take care of it."
I got the scissors out of the junk drawer and snipped each twine handle.
SH finished washing the dish that he was taking three minutes to wash - because he washes to 100% whereas I wash to 99%, which takes only 15 seconds per dish - and saw that I had merely snipped the handle.
"That's not right!" he said as he looked at the mutilated paper bag.
You know how he is.
I rolled my eyes.
"Where are the scissors?" he demanded.
"You know where the scissors are," I replied.
"No! The ones I like! Not these!"
He was looking not at the junk drawer scissors but at the silverware drawer scissors, of which there are two identical - IDENTICAL - pair. Pairs. Whatever.
"There are scissors there," I said.
"Not the ones I like!"
I was befuddled, as the scissors that reside in the silverware drawer are exactly alike. They are kitchen shears that I use for cutting flower stems and basil and that kind of stuff. The junk drawer scissors are the kind you would use for cutting fabric if they weren't so dull from cutting paper and twine handles.
SH scrambled through the silverware drawer to find the other pair of kitchen scissors. Then he went through the dishdrainer, which is where they were found, much to his relief, because he likes that pair, not the other pair that is IDENTICAL.
Then he went to the bag and neatly trimmed the handles off flush with the bag.
"That looks better," he announced.
I rolled my eyes again. Lord have mercy being married to an engineer can be trying at times.