This story is dedicated to my loving and wonderful husband, Tim.
This morning I sat down on the couch to put on my shoes and knocked over both beer bottles sitting on the floor. Only one was empty. The scent of a New Belgium Brewing company (Loft or Blue Paddle, which one I do not know) wafted through the air as a decent-sized puddle formed on the floor. The clank and sound of glug-gluging liquid drew Simon into the living room, little paws bounding up to the edge of the puddle. Like any good parent, I cautioned the five month old away as he stuck his nose in it. A few paper towels took care of the mess, and afterwards Simon lay down in the spot where the beer had been.
The following is what could have happened next. (And probably did in some parallel universe.)
Simon and Karly go off to kitten school, where they meet their friends, and spend time running around, chasing tails and string. One of the other kittens, a worried but well meaning calico by the name of Kitty Miss Princess notices how Simon’s fur smells funny. Kitty Miss Princess knows that smell, and proceeds to tell their teacher, Mrs. Whitepaw all about it.
Mrs. Whitepaw takes Simon to see Mr. Graywhiskers, the principal. They all sit down and the adult cats take turns explaining the inherent dangers and evils of alcohol.
The same afternoon, after our adorable kittens return home, I’ve just got them settled down to dinner when the doorbell rings. To my shock, Mr. Graywhiskers, Mrs. Whitepaw and a strange cat are standing at my door. The principal introduces the stranger as Ms. Fuzzybottom.
Ms. Fuzzybottom carries a tiny wooden clipboard, and a monocle hangs from her collar. She’s one of those squashed nose breeds, so glasses are out of the question for this old cat.
The trio stalks into our home, and while Mr. Graywhiskers explains the reason for their visit, I notice Fuzzybottom is examining all the corners of the room, sniffing the furniture, the floor, the doorframe. She makes marks on the clipboard with her claw. To my shock, she comes up to me, tail swishing angrily, and informs me that she is from KFS: Kitten Family Services, and they are here to investigate a claim of parental neglect.
I frantically explain that we are renovating the house, and I’ve been sanding the mantle, so our coffee table is on the front porch, and how my husband has a bad habit of leaving his bottles and soda cans on the floor next the spot on the couch where he sits. I then drift into a tangent about how the porch is screened, and not street level, so people really can’t see the coffee table so it’s not as white trash as it sounds. I plead with the old, grumpy cat, by saying,
“Please, Mrs. Fuzzybottom, it was just an accident!”
“Ms. Fuzzybottom,” she growls. “Consumption of beer by a five-month old kitten is no accident.”
“He didn’t consume it; he laid down in the same spot. The floor was probably still a little damp, so that’s why he smelled like beer.”
However much I pleaded and cried and begged, it was to no avail. Ms. Fuzzybottom had the principal take our tiny kitten away, and promised to come back for another home visit, fearing we would further negatively influence our nine-month old, Karly, and branded me as a ‘Bad Human Parent.’
See what happens? Do you see what happens, Tim? When you don’t take your cans and bottles to the kitchen and put them in the recycling bin, I knock them over and a grumpy, old, squishy-faced cat comes and takes away our kittens.