So, I innocently wander into the kitchen, wanting a little snack but not really sure what that might entail. I’m not dying of hunger, but I’m at that age when the simple things please me, like shoving food in my mouth when I don’t really need it. (It’s Friday night. 30 years ago I would be at the local disco, sucking down shots like a baby calf. Now? I just want munchies that are not fueled by recreational drugs and won’t wreak havoc on my digestive system.)
I bang around in the fridge for a bit, dissatisfied with the first 473 things I encounter, because I have focus issues and there are just too many stacks of mundane crap possibly blocking a jewel of deliciousness. I finally drag out a deli tray left over from our low-key New Year’s Eve celebration. (It was just me, Terry, and the cats, a very-limited guest list based on our lack of planning anything substantial and a general fatigue after the roller coaster of Christmas Week.)
This particular tray involved little segments of ham and turkey wraps, originally arranged in a very pleasing, circular manner. (This was no longer the case, because hungry people destroy art without a second thought.) In the grand scheme of things, there were maybe four total wraps that had been diced and then deployed in a subterfuge to make it look like there were thousands of wraps involved. We probably could have made the platter ourselves for about five bucks, but the allure of someone else doing the actual menial labor was intoxicating. (“Oh, look, they’ve already done the cutting for us. Throw that in the shopping cart.”)
I set the tray on the kitchen counter, and it was at this point that everything went to hell. Firstly, I couldn’t get the damn thing open. I don’t know why I was having so much trouble, as we had clearly breached the security gates in the past, based on the surviving wrap widgets that were randomly scattered about the battlefield that I couldn’t reach. (When did they start making child-proof deli trays? And what magical word did we utter on our previous visit that helped us gain access?) I struggled and sweated, determined to nosh on the nibbles.
Suddenly, the lid of the tray came ripping off with an alarming noise that the former citizens of Pompeii probably heard just before they realized that their vacation destination was about to be downgraded on TripAdvisor. Not prepared for this achievement, I exerted a little bit too much backswing and the lid went sailing away to a part of the house that I probably don’t clean as much as should. (Someone or something at the landing site screamed, but I really didn’t have time to investigate that as I was on a mission.)
Hopped up on the adrenaline of having conquered plastic storage, I lunged for one of the widgets. (I believe I was aiming for turkey, a thoughtful act on my part as the other human in the house prefers pig products over fowl. These are just things you consider in a long-term relationship.) Sadly, I was unaware that the turkey chunk had its own agenda and “consumption” was not on its bucket list.)
The turkey fought back. I had barely closed my gluttonous fingers around the wedge of wrap when it went on the offensive. It flew out of my hand, sailed through the air, smacked to the floor, and then hopscotched its way into the cat’s water bowl. Naturally, the cat that I haven’t seen for a week chose this exact moment to sashay into the kitchen, briefly survey the damage, and then just look at me. (Why are you doing this, Daddy? I’ve been faithfully not bothering you while you’re blogging, an edict you put in writing and had me sign, and then you defile my water bowl despite my good behavior. Now do you understand why I clean myself all day? This environment is toxic.)
I ignored the cat. (Dude, you are constantly dunking all your sparkly cat toys in your water bowl. You have no shame and no limits. That wedge of turkey wrap is by no means the worst thing that’s been baptized in your trough.) I reached down, scooped up the now-slimy bit of turkey roll, turned toward the sink, and hurled the wet mess of gunk at the sink. My intention was to banish the errant turkey tidbit to the depths of Hades, which in some circles is known as the garbage disposal.
I apparently erred a bit in my trajectory calculations.
Rather than willingly succumb to the gravitational pull of the drain, the turkey missile chose to avoid the death-knell of the sink completely and head for less-unsavory territory, namely the demilitarized zone just to the left of the sink. Descending from my ill-planned flight path, the chunk plunked with amazing agility right into my coffee cup from earlier in the day. (Setting the scene: I slowly relish my daily mug of java, taking only a sip or two over several hours, because I have an anxiety disorder which bodes ill with excessive amounts of caffeine at one time. Long story. What you need to know: There were still clouds in my coffee, clouds in my coffee, and…)
The chunk splashed down in the mug like one of the Apollo missions returning to Earth. A spray of watery brown exploded upwards, drenching the cabinet door just above, with rivulets of mess peppering the counter like acid rain on a really bad day. I sighed, the cat sighed. I grabbed a sponge and went to work. The cat didn’t grab anything and still managed to judge me. Eventually I had it all cleaned up, sending the sodden bit of recalcitrant turkey down the drain, along with the remnants of my clouded coffee and my self-esteem.
Then I marched back over to the fridge, because I was still hungry. The cat hoisted a leg and started cleaning himself…
Originally published in “Bonnywood Manor” on 01/03/15. Two minor revisions were made for this post. And, for those of you in the know, yes, the cat involved was Scotch. He thought it would be fun to have an unbilled walk-on. I agreed to such, as appeasement for having turned his water into a very thin turkey soup…
Categories: My Life
Bonnywood Manor 
My soul brother! I thought I was klutz unparalleled.
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And now we can trip through life together!…. 😉
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Very clever repost. I decided to read ONE more blog-post before wending my tired way to bed and now I’ve laughed myself awake. Is there no end to your mischief?
xx,
mgh
(Madelyn Griffith-Haynie – ADDandSoMuchMORE dot com)
ADD/EFD Coach Training Field founder; ADD Coaching co-founder
“It takes a village to educate a world!”
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Sadly, there is no end. It just bubbles up in me and I have to hit that pressure-relief valve known as a blog post… 😉
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Its 4pm here…and its suppose to be a boring time of the day..but i am laughing right now reading your post.
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That’s what I’m here for, to help folks get through the boring bits and carry on… 😉
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Scotch would get on well with my French neighbors 😉
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Something tells me he’s already in a private Facebook group with them… 😉
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Get a dog. It will eat everything.
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Oh, so you would easily toss Scotch (and sister Cleo) aside for a canine? I’m sure he’ll be interested to hear that. And actually, his reaction might make for a very fine blog post… 😉
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I should have said ‘add’ a dog. I’ve successfully owned dogs and cats together. And I’m enjoying a scotch as I type, but it’s liquid (and in lower case), so your Scotch doesn’t need to worry.
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🙂 Sounds like an average day to me. I’m surprised the cat didn’t take a bite of that turkey slice.
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LOL! Our kitty children have very finely-tuned interests, and they are very finicky and particular about things being in a certain order. Until it comes to their litter boxes. Apparently they have parties in there and throw things about with abandon… 😉
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Only you could turn midnight snackage into “an alarming noise that the former citizens of Pompeii probably heard just before they realized that their vacation destination was about to be downgraded on TripAdvisor. ”
When O when will I learn never to drink coffee or any other spewable beverage while reading one of your blogs? (On the plus side, my dog is far less judgmental than your cat. )
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I’m glad you honed in on that line, because it’s one of my favorite bits in this piece. As for the spewing, it gives me great personal pleasure when I’m able to achieve that… water-mark… 😉
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if it had been my cat that turkey wouldn’t have even sunk into the water. Love the song ref, was thinking it just before you typed it 🙂
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Sometimes the music in is me… 😉
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another song reference – can’t think who sang it though – even thought it’s now stuck in my head! aaaargh
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P.S> I am only a 1 cup a day coffee-ite too, so I understand your level of bereftness when said coffee didn’t get the chance to be appreciated by your taste buds in the proper manner.
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The coffee restriction does annoy me, because I love it so, but if I didn’t adhere to it, I would be bouncing off the ways and unleashing 15 blog posts a day. (And slapping random people just because.) The world is not prepared for me to be highly-caffeinated… 😉
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🙂 I’d just be peeing a lot – and not sleeping – but you don’t need to know that so I won’t tell you, ok?!
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I read this initially with a sense of impending doom. Who eats leftover turkey from JANUARY, particularly in AUGUST? A one way ticket to the morgue (if it’s extreme) or at the least a prolonged visit with the gods of porcelain and a vow NEVER EVER to touch turkey again in one’s lifetime. And a cleansed internal workings system that might make now a good time to schedule that colonoscopy. You don’t need the vile laxatives if rotten turkey or shellfish has entered the arena. Those things make you wish you were dead and they get rid of any housemates in a fast hurry. I was relieved therefore to read the previously published date of 1-3-???? You were in a safety zone, except the damn turkey had achieved cognizance. Never a good thing sentient turkey. It WILL fight back..
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Yes, I realize that this is another instance where perhaps a disclaimer should have been inserted at the beginning of the post, but on the other hand, the slight confusion caused by the time element distortion just makes things more surreal. And that’s how I like it at Bonnywood, with one foot on reality and the other yearning to reach absurdity. But more importantly, I sense a horrific past experience on your part with poor refrigerator selections, as you were quite detailed in the aftereffects of such. Do I sense an impending blog post? 😉
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Just curious, how does a calf suck down shots? 😉
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One teat at a time. Wait, was that rude? Possibly. I guess I should have paid more attention during my internment at Miss Ethel’s School of Refinery and Fine Winery… 😉
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Good old Scotch!
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He’s a swell guy. Neurotic as hell and prone to manic outbursts. Just like somebody else in this house…
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I read this very early in the morning, and it’s probably not a good thing to laugh and snort so loud at that time of day. I, too, wondered why you kept New Year’s turkey so long, thinking it got stuck way in the back of the fridge. Then I figured, surely this is an older post, and it was. Whew! 🙂
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Yep, when I re-post older bits, it can get a little confusing. But as for the snorting, I look at it this way: Any time I can get a giggle out of somebody is the perfect time of day… 😉
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Scotch told Dr. Whoberry about this accident during their therapy session. I like to stand by the door and listen in. Scotch was NOT pleased with you. I, however, giggled quite a bit.
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Scotch is a traitor. I don’t trust him any further than I can throw one of his cat toys. Said with love… 😉
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Word to self….” do not read any more of Brian’s posts whilst suffering from the flu. You will only end up with your laughs turning to Versuvious like eruptions of coughing that will leave you exhausted and unable to do anything else for the rest of the week”
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It’s just my sly way of helping you take it easy and get some rest… 😉
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Oh my gosh! What an awesome LAUGH—thank you so much Brian!
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I’m glad you enjoyed it! Please stop by for more silliness anytime you want… 😉
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