Believe it or not, when it rains in the desert, excitement reins. Desert dwellers locked in classrooms do not get anxious and antsy when the sun shines. That is not when they beg to go out and play. Desert dwellers love the rain.
From the smallest to the largest, the desert dwellers will arrive at school today soaking wet from splashing in the puddles. While they are in class they will beg to be allowed outside. As they change classes or visit the restroom they will deliberately walk beneath overflowing gutters and tromp through the sidewalk rivers. Spirits will be high.
As they steam dry in classrooms they will begin to smell like wet hamsters. The room will grow humid. The door will have to be opened to allow in fresh, cool air. Into the room will also flow the drum beat of the rain — the scent, the sound, the excitement — and no work will be done today.
Last night when I went to bed my kitchen was clean. My floor was swept. Both the throw rugs were freshly laundered and free of feline fur. One was in front of the sink. The other was in front of the stove.
This morning when I wandered into my kitchen I found this:
The lump in the rug to your right is Christmas, and had I waited another second to snap the pic, I would have captured her paw reaching out to twap Fluffy. A great battle ensued — all in fun, of course. It took them awhile to notice me but as soon as they did, they hot-tailed it out of the kitchen (see Fluffy’s hind legs in retreat?) and left me this:
Please note the cat fur all over the carpets! And the shoes were originally by the front door! That appliance you are looking at is the washing machine, and I am thinking I should put the cats in it, not the rugs. Why do I even bother to clean?
Despite the fact that I am not feeling well, I did a bit of cleaning yesterday. My strength soon left me and I quit without dragging the vacuum cleaner down the hall and putting it away. I just left it sitting near the love seat in the living room.
This morning when I entered the living room, Chrissy was on her hind legs batting at Fluffy, who was on the love seat. I walked by and told them to “play nice.” They never listen.
I sat down at the comp, typed in my email password and Fluffy let out an indignant yeowl. I looked up in time to see both cats collide in mid-air and land on the vacuum cleaner. One of them hit the power switch and the machine roared to life. Fluffy bounced off the entertaiment center and the wall in his mad dash for freedom. Chrissy made it from the living room to the kitchen and into my arms in two giant leaps.
The vacuum cleaner is off. Has been for ten minutes. Fluffy is at the end of the hall giving his best vocal impression of a siamese warrior, and Chrissy is curled up next to my feet under the blanket I have over my legs. Occasionally I feel her tremble.
I think it is safe to say that my darlings each scared away one of their nine lives today.