I know! Butterflies!
As I say, nothing to warn of disaster to come. Just the honeyed sunshine oozing over the gardens and the terraced hillsides. Just goes to show that Auntie Mabd, the youngest of the Fate Sisters, has a nasty sense of humor. A practical joker with no restrictions and no sense of decency.
You're probably thinking that it's a good thing I was paying attention so as to not be caught off guard. Forewarned is forearmed--is that the term? You are right, as far as it goes, but when Ms. Wonder entered the salon with a sheaf of travel brochures in her hand, I naturally expected the ongoing discussion of the Caribbean cruise to be the source of danger.
I'm amazed at the persistence of this Ms. Wonder in pressing the matter of cruises. You will remember from past postings our discussions of Viking river cruises through Europe. Now her fascination is with excursions to Belize, Honduras, and resorts on the coast of Mexico.
The problem is that once you get started on these cruises, you find that you can't stop. You think you can quit any time you like but then the next thing you know, you're throwing a toothbrush and passport into a plastic bag and heading for the sea. First, it's a ship to Ixtapa Zihuatanejo, then it's a river barge down the Rhein, and the next thing you know, you're on a ferry down the Yangtze from Nanjing to Shangai.
In the matter of cruises, I should be firm, I thought. If I wobble, she will be encouraged and continue to drag in these brightly colored tracts, much like Lucy, the cat brings dead mice to the doorstep even though I make it clear in word and deed that the market for dead mice is sluggish if any.
"Poopsie," I said, assuming the home-field advantage, "do you know what today is?"
"Friday," she said.
"Today is the day Sagi gets his 90-day chip."
"Wow," she said and with this one exclamation, I knew that I had sidestepped the talk of ships and ports-of-call. "Has he been clean for three months?"
"That's right," I said, "our top-ranked caramel-colored tabby has not shredded a single roll of toilet paper since July 18th."
"Oh, that boy!" she said. "Where is he? I'm going to give him a big hug."
It was with her, the work of an instant to be down the stairs and looking for the cat, probably on his favorite cushion in the living room window. He was not there, although I didn't realize it at the time. Not that it would have made a difference. I was bubbling over with joie de vivre resulting from my nimble avoidance of you know what.
I didn't actually utter the words, "Tra-la-la!", but I came about as close as ever. I did a little dance and when I noticed the new roll of the aforementioned paper left on the dresser by Ms. Wonder in her hasty departure, I grabbed the end tissue and gave it a professional yank, like one of those magicians you see in a Myrtle Beach dinner theatre. The sheet should have torn along the perforations and left the roll sitting unmoved on the dresser. But it didn't.
That roll of paper came to life as though I were a switch-throwing Dr. Frankenstein and it was a slab of something dug up the night before. It rose into the air before my eyes, arched over my head, waffled through the doorway, and fell to the floor where it careened off the walls and raced rapidly to the other end of the hallway. It didn't stop until it touched the front paws of Sagi who had been sitting quietly, basking in the morning sun.
Auntie Mabd! The younger of the Fate Sisters. Look at the trouble she causes. Benevolent universe, my left foot. And you can quote me! Not all aunts are bad, of course. My Aunt Mary Magdalene and Aunt Arvazine come to mind as the good deserving type. Still, behind every poor schmuck going down for the third time is an aunt who shoved him into it and it's amazing how often the aunt in question is one of the big three--Mabd, Nemain, or Macha.
It's the same for cats.
There was Sagi, spirit floating gayly along, 90 days clean and sober. Sitting in the hallway, minding his own business. Not a care in the world. Then, out of the blue, blanketing the hallway like a freak snowstorm in hell, and rolling up in his face all cocky and whatnot, comes this tube of maniacal paper.
Sagi looked at it in disbelief, then raised his countenance to me. The look in his eyes seemed to say. You promised me no more than I could bear. But this!
The situation strongly resembled some great moment in Greek tragedy. Not like the thorn in the lion's paw but more like, well, you know those plays where the hero is stepping high, wide and handsome--as I believe the saying goes--completely unaware that Nemesis is following close behind looking for an opportunity to drop a banana peel. This was that.
I could clearly see, looking into Sagi's eyes, that he would be picking up another white chip soon.