It was a normal morning. My head was still fuzzy from sleep, and since I’m not a coffee drinker it wasn’t going to clear up anytime soon. I was brushing my teeth in slow motion, Â as if that would prevent a gob of toothpaste from falling off the brush and slithering down my pajama top like a foam avalanche. I hate that.
You know what I mean, don’t you? Even though you wipe it off a white smear eventually appears and wears like a badge of shame. â€œIâ€™m an adult who still hasnâ€™t mastered the skill of keeping toothpaste on the brush or in my mouth,â€ it screams. And why is it the gob loves a dark top? I rarely leave a gob on a light colored top where it wouldnâ€™t show. Nope, the toothpaste sticks like glue to the brush on those days. Just saying.
As I stared at myself in the mirror, willing my mouth to behave as the brush wandered around all my teeth, I heard the thunder of Pudgyâ€™s feet running up the stairs towards our bedroom. Â I heard the sound of her landing on our bed, and then hitting the floor once again. Â I heard the scratchy sounds of her sliding across the tile of the bathroom floor. Then I heard her racing back down the stairs and into the living room. I never once actually saw her; she was that fast, and that crazy.
When I looked down at my feet I notice both rugs in the bathroom were now jumbled heaps. In her slide across the floor sheâ€™d used the rugs to slow her turning momentum, and for additional traction before heading out the door. I felt as if a grey tornado had hit the room and then moved on while I stood with mouth agape and spittle dripping.
Poking my head out the bathroom door I saw Pudgy looking up at me from a lazy-lounge-position in the living room. She wasnâ€™t even breathing hard. â€œWhat?â€ was her expression. I just shook my head and backed away from the door.
Having a demon-possessed cat and not slobbering on my shirtâ€¦double score! It was the best part of my day.