Blog
An Independence Celebration
... from dust and dirt.
My fairy godmother once again failed to show up with a mop and broom, leaving me the joyless task of cleaning house. I know, I know: it builds character. Look—I have character. I’m up to my eyeballs in character. In all honestly, I’d prefer the fairy godmother.
Since the world generally doesn’t care what I would prefer, and dust and dirt insist on accumulating, I hunkered down for a deep cleaning session. This is also known as a torture-the-cats session, because they associate all deep cleaning with me going on vacation and stress out accordingly.
Much to the cats’ amazement, however, I didn’t stop with the normal deep cleaning. At some point they poked their heads around whatever corner they’d been hiding behind and stared in slack-jawed amazement. The apartment is not large. By all rights, I should not be able to spend as much time cleaning as I did today.
I didn’t realize how deeply my behavior was disturbing them until I came out of the bathroom and found Onyx holding SOS signs up in the windows while Pookie tried to dial 911 on my cell phone.
And then, eventually, they hit the other side of despair and followed me around, watching with evident amusement as I progressed through random tasks. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought they were taking bets on what I’d tackle next.
But I do know better—or, at the very least, they were both making dumb bets—because neither one of them figured out that they could end up on the “what else can I clean?” list.
Pookie would have figured it out eventually, so I grabbed her first. Onyx, who some days has me convinced she would be ruling the world if only she had a thumb, today convinced me there’s not a single brain cell in her head. She tried to climb all over Pookie and I while I tidied up Pookie and never once seemed to realize that she would be next. When I finally did grab Onyx, it was twenty minutes of screaming bloody murder (on her part—she’s a vocal little beastie) and indignant how dare you? How DARE you?” yowling.
She is an unappreciative of character-building exercises as I am.
However, we both escaped unscathed (even if she doesn’t believe me on that score yet) and now my apartment is mother-in-law clean. It almost makes me wish I had a mother-in-law. I mean, she could inspect my cats’ ears, and we’d pass inspection.
A good days’ work, I think. Now for bed, and blissful sleeping through this crazed notion people have that blowing stuff up = fun. If the sparks aren’t coming out the end of a fairy godmother’s wand, I just don’t want to see them.
(As a side note, to tell you how tired I am now, I just typed “gothmother” four times before I gave up and made spellcheck fix it. No wonder I get no household help; I have an emo magical guardian.)
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Comments
Rolling here! I want a Fairy Gothmother! SO funny.
On Jul 4, 2009, grey horse matters said:
That was hilarious! If you find the fairy gothmother or her wand send her over here, I’m up to my eyeballs in character too.