Friday, July 17, 2009

A minor, stinky setback.

The fluorescents buzz as the dull round blade pops a slice into Chef Boyardee’s can of beefy noodely goodness.

Twist crunch, twist crunch, pop; the top flips up and I pour the contents into a bowl. Then I hear something.

What the hell is that? I think it’s the cat. Damn roommates cat, what has that damn thing gotten into now? I put my bowl in the microwave, Scratch, meow, scratch scratch. Push one, three, zero, start; meow, meow scratch. The light comes on, as the glass tray slowly circulates for maximum heating deliciousness; scratch, meow… Goddammit alright, ALRIGHT!

I follow the cries for help and for a moment it sounds like its coming from my bedroom. Dammit. I open the door and fuzzy yellow flies past my feet to freedom.

I start to close the door and stop: I smell something. Shit. Literally.

My eyes float to the floor, as I carefully navigate my cat-shit-colored carpet for the little stink jewel left just for me.

Not in my shoes, good. Not in the hamper or laundry basket, good. Not on the floor anywhere, that’s odd. I raise my gaze to the bed. Not on my pillow, good.

What the hell?

As I turn to check the closet, something catches my eye. On top of the floor, on top of my bed, on top of my freshly-packed-for-Colorado woodland camouflage duffle bag and blending right in is the biggest, red and brownest, runniest cat turn I have ever laid eyes.


Latex gloves snap, soap bubbles, and brushes scrub, and I walk outside to hang the bag to dry.

I open the door and walk back into the kitchen, my nostrils still assaulted by the lingering particles, I leave the door open to try and clear the air.

As I move toward the back of the house, a beep reminds me that my meal reached tasty warmness a while ago.

I walk to the microwave, open the door stare into the bowl: Red, brown, chunky. Mmmmm. Don’t think so.

I was ready, so ready. Now I am hungry, partially unpacked, and out of beer while my zippered junk holding devise, still smelling of soapy cat-scat, flops in the wind outside just waiting to drive some airport drug dog batshit nuts.

Still, only a minor setback. And with a bit of luck, at 11:45am tomorrow morning myself and my doodie-duffle will be northward bound to kick ass and find carp and cutbows with MG and Kyle in Colorado. Oh joyous day!

-Alex who will double-check his pillow before retiring tonight.

1 comment:

What sayeth you?