“There's a cat in the tub!” Lisa
cried. “Janet, get rid of it!”
“You're a big girl, Lisa. You can
get rid of it yourself,” called Janet from the living room.
Since they moved into the house a
week ago, Lisa had been struggling to deal with the cat infestation
they didn't discover until after they'd signed the mortgage. The
exterminator was no help, saying there was nothing to be done about
cats unless the cats themselves wanted a thing do. The best advice he
could give was to carry a spray bottle and keep anything small enough
to bat around locked away.
She eased toward the faucet, hoping
to get to the shower to spray it before it... did whatever cats did.
Sat there some more, she supposed. A quick blast of cold from the
nozzle was enough to chase away the furry pest, but she knew he would
be back. Cats always came back. They were always there just out of
sight, waiting to pounce, or to knock things off of shelves, or to
sit on computers or books or freshly laundered white shirts, or to
dart around the place for no good reason, nearly knocking a person
over as they did.
No, there was nothing worse than a
cat infestation. For the tenth time that day, Lisa muttered under her
breath, “Why couldn't it have been termites?”
- Originally mailed to D. Murphey from Ocean Springs, Mississippi
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