I was up with the larks, the snails, and Bree, three of nature's best who apparently enjoy the early morning. The sky was clear and bright, the sun was at work on the usual corner, and bluebirds were singing the all-clear. In other words, all was right with the world, and no sign of the disaster that was to come.
But we Genomes are not new to this neck of the woods either. We've seen many days begin with this bien-etre outlook only to drop a banana peel in our path before mid-afternoon.
Just as the honeyed sunshine climbed the garden fence and began creeping toward the snapdragons and clematis, I entered the kitchen to put on the coffee and get breakfast for Uma Maya and Sagi, the two resident felines of the Genome household.
When Ms. Wonder entered the salon with a sheaf of travel brochures in her hand, I wasn't distracted in the way of lesser men. I naturally recognized the tactic as one of diversion and subterfuge. I knew that the imminent discussion of European river cruises was not the true source of danger.
Still, I'm amazed at the persistence of this Ms. Wonder in pressing the matter of cruises. Her fascination is becoming something that might possibly be defined in the Diagnostics and Statistical Manual V5. I can only assume it's something in her Slavic DNA, possibly something left over from the time her ancestors worked in the Orlov stables so near the Volga River.
The problem with these luxury cruises, as I've mentioned in previous posts, is that once you get started, 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 Shanghai.
In the matter of cruises, I have taken a firm stand. 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.
Still, I'm amazed at the persistence of this Ms. Wonder in pressing the matter of cruises. Her fascination is becoming something that might possibly be defined in the Diagnostics and Statistical Manual V5. I can only assume it's something in her Slavic DNA, possibly something left over from the time her ancestors worked in the Orlov stables so near the Volga River.
The problem with these luxury cruises, as I've mentioned in previous posts, is that once you get started, 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 Shanghai.
In the matter of cruises, I have taken a firm stand. 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.
Forgive me if the foregoing was a repeat. I sometimes get caught up in the emotions and let them sweep me away. Just stick with me and in the future, I shall remain mindful.
"Poopsie," I said, with confidence that suited me well; probably brought on by having the home-field advantage, "do you know what today is?"
"Wednesday," 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? Again?"
"That's right," I said, "our top-ranked caramel-colored tabby has not shredded a single roll of toilet paper since December 2. And you didn't need to add the 'again' to your remark. I'm aware that he's had his slips but let's remain confident."
"Oh, that boy!" she said with warm admiration. "Where is he? I'm going to give him a chin-scratching. He likes that."
Immediately, she was up the stairs and looking for the cat, probably on his favorite cushion in the upstairs window. And I was left in the kitchen alone, bubbling over with joie de vivre resulting from my nimble avoidance of you know what.
I was doing my patented victory dance, a little something that I'm told originated with Alexander, or was it Napoleon? No matter. As I danced my way around the kitchen island, the corner of the counter near the cupboard came into view. A sudden chill around the ankles stopped my dancing. I stared at a roll of paper towels sitting on the counter near the window.
"Poopsie," I said, with confidence that suited me well; probably brought on by having the home-field advantage, "do you know what today is?"
"Wednesday," 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? Again?"
"That's right," I said, "our top-ranked caramel-colored tabby has not shredded a single roll of toilet paper since December 2. And you didn't need to add the 'again' to your remark. I'm aware that he's had his slips but let's remain confident."
"Oh, that boy!" she said with warm admiration. "Where is he? I'm going to give him a chin-scratching. He likes that."
Immediately, she was up the stairs and looking for the cat, probably on his favorite cushion in the upstairs window. And I was left in the kitchen alone, bubbling over with joie de vivre resulting from my nimble avoidance of you know what.
I was doing my patented victory dance, a little something that I'm told originated with Alexander, or was it Napoleon? No matter. As I danced my way around the kitchen island, the corner of the counter near the cupboard came into view. A sudden chill around the ankles stopped my dancing. I stared at a roll of paper towels sitting on the counter near the window.
The subject, Sagi, sat next to the towels and looked toward me with an expression much like the one that native English speakers wear when about to say something in French.
The towels were not the tight wound roll of ephemera that you might expect. They were streaming out across the counter and down onto the floor. We Genomes have quick minds and I instantly discerned what had occurred.
There was Sagi, spirit floating gayly along, 90 days clean and sober. Sitting on the sofa with me watching Weekend Update and then I fell asleep, leaving no one in control. The Met Gala followed WU and all those celebrities parading down a long, flowing pathway must have reminded this champion feline of a roll of paper towels.
Seeing that long, flowing streamer leading to the celebrity parade must have been too much for his paper addiction. I can see him now, white-knuckling through the show, hoping for the commercial that never came, until he could take it no longer.
I could clearly see, looking into Sagi's eyes, the familiar kitty lament that says, 'you promised that you'd never subject me to more than I can bear, but this!'
It must have been for him the work of an instant to leap to the counter and begin spinning the roll of towels until they shot across the room and floated to the floor. I can imagine how satisfying the sight must have been to him. But then the remorse of having gone back out inevitably followed, as it always does.
The evidence of his back-sliding is just another example of the trouble caused by Auntie Mabd, the younger of the Fate Sisters, or if you will indulge my own personal theory--Princess Amy. Now there's one of the girls if you want one. 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 and deserving types. 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 (Amy!), Nemain, or Macha.
It's the same for cats.
The situation strongly resembled some great moment in Greek tragedy 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 moment was that moment.
I scooped him up and gave him a kiss behind the ear. "Don't worry my old buddy," I said. "We'll get through this; remember, my friend, you fail in the face of rolls of paper, but together we recover and re-roll."