This story begins as many others do - on a normal day with a mundane task. This story is also like a regularly repeated television show. Same bat time. Same bat channel. Allow me to explain.
At our home, we do not have a dishwasher. I have two hands, a sink, some soap, and some water. Just like the pioneers did it. I consider it to be one of my ultimate sacrifices in getting married, but I’m also a tad on the dramatic side.
In my household, its also a normal occurrence that I am the one doing the dishes. Surprise, surprise. Sometimes I think male anatomy might have an aversion to water.
Since day one, my cat has also been interested in my daily dish washing events. I’ve come to believe that she hears the clink and clang of porcelain against glass, and her mind twists the sound into some kind of medieval plea for help. I have tried to reassure her again and again that the pie plate is not in need of saving, but it has a fruitless effort.
As time progressed from the beginning of my marriage, she became more and more interested in the coming and going of things in the sink, and she began a ritual. As soon as I turn on the tap and add some soap, my heroic kitty rushes into the kitchen and sits at my feet - ever vigilant on the off chance that I will let her people go.
When several minutes elapse, she will then proceed to meow a plea and make a requesting circle around my ankles, begging for the prisoners release. If I pay her no attention and continue to torture the silverware with my scrubbing sponge, she reaches a breaking point.
It is at this time that my own precious cat will turn against me in a silent rage. Sitting sharply with her back straight and her ears flicked back, she decides that I am at fault. I have defied her commands, and I have to be treated to warlike situations.
Now, you need a tad more information to understand this next part because no regular cat could impose such cruelty with quite the force that she does. I took her on the scales today just to reaffirm my knowledge. My precious kitten weighs a whooping 19.4 lbs. Of that weight, her tail is less than a pound, but it is the most lethal next to her claws and teeth.
During the dish washing phase if all of her pleas are ignored, my sweet little kitty resorts to smacking my legs with her tail, and because she is so large it tends to leave bruises on my ankles. Originally, I told people what these bruises where from, but the story has become far too long to repeat on a day-to-day basis. So now, I tend to hold in my shame and just tell people that I ran into something.
I get fewer stares that way.
One day I pray that I will have a dishwasher of my very own and that my cat and I will be on even terms in every area of the house, but for now, I’m stuck with bruises and trying to do the dishes in the dark so she doesn’t notice.
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