The Killer Blinds & Other Household Hazards

The kitten comes round the corner and into the bedroom on two wheels, skitters across the carpet in full attack mode and launches herself enthusiastically onto the footstool, then the chair, and finally with a wild trill, right into the window blinds.  Before I can even turn in my chair, there's a violent thud followed by the clatter of a collapsing window treatment.  When I look, I see her - surprised and indignant - all in a tangle of cords and blinds and chair cover.  The assault has somehow gone terribly wrong but she is undeterred, shaking and pawing herself free in a matter of seconds and darting past me with another high pitched cat song.  In one free spirited high jump, she clears the pet gate to the guestroom and skids into a bookcase.  A lamp shudders briefly then crashes to the ground, a picture tumbles off, a pair of brass giraffes slip and slide their way onto the floor with a metallic grinding noise and two shelves of hardback books spill every which way.  

By the time I reach the guestroom, she has - of course - moved on in search of new worlds to conquer and fresh havoc to wreak.  The black dog is jittery and both the small brown one and the little dachshund have fled under the bed.  I track her by the shambles she leaves in her wake - the dining room candles are knocked ass over tea kettle, the water bowl in the kitchen is still rocking on its rim, another lamp is down in the den.  But there's no sign of the kitten.  I wait.

In a moment, a small heart shaped grey face appears from behind the flat screen and my heart sinks with an image of mangled cable wires and electrical hazards.  I speak softly, sweetly, so as not to alarm her, hoping to coax her out with a minimum of damage.  Then without warning, the black dog sideswipes past me and toward her and in an instant, all hell breaks loose.  Ivy plants fall, stacks of music CD's come down in a veritable avalanche of plastic, and my worst fear materializes as an already precarious situation takes a bad turn and the flat screen begins to sway ominously.  I cross the room like a lightning strike and despite slamming one shin into the corner of the coffee table ( my mind silently shrieks every curse word I've ever learned), I get there in time and the 30" monitor falls safely and harmlessly into my hands.

Fuck a duck, someone mutters - it's my ultra-special, rarely used obscenity, reserved for times of unbearable and extreme stress - and it takes a second to realize that it's in my voice, then I remember I'm holding a very expensive piece of digital technology in my hands and that I should calm down and breathe.  Otherwise, I say out loud, You'll miss your chance to strangle that damn fool kitten.  I ease the flat screen back onto its pedestal, shoo the dog away, pick up the plants and gather the CD's.  No real harm done, I keep repeating like a Hail Mary, Nothing broken or bleeding.

Back in the bedroom, the kitten is at the window, perched innocently on the a/c unit and enjoying a blind-free and unfettered view of the street.  The black dog is beside her, differences forgotten now that the crisis is over, and the two smaller dogs have re-gained the bed, sleeping peacefully side by side in a jumble of pillows.

Madness and mayhem stroll down the street, arm in arm with peace and quiet.  You never know who's going to visit next or how long they'll stay.

Awake, chaos: we have napped ~ ee cummings