It was time to wash the windows and I wondered where to start.
“I have an idea,” meowed a familiar voice.
And I knew the idea would require much of me. So I pretended not to listen and began to gather up some cleaning materials. It really didn’t matter so much where I started. All the windows needed cleaning.
“Just start,” I thought.
Anywhere.
“Oh yes,” she purred. Anywhere indeed.
I smiled.
So allow me to present to you my cat. She shows up in my writing from time to time. Her full name is Annie B Whiskers the Mafia Cat. The B stands for Bonino and I usually call her Mrs. Bonino or Annie. She is 7 years old, which I think means that she is 49. The very same age that I am. This is the one year that will be the case. Next year I will be 50 and she will be 56. We are getting older, she and I.
She tells me important things and sometimes I ignore them. I do not like her advice about men for example. She is usually correct but does not pussyfoot around when it comes to the truth. I like the truth but sometimes I like to control the timing a little.
Besides, her experience with males is pretty pathetic so I do not think she is in a position to point her little Bonino paw at me.
Oh yes, we are talking about windows and I have gotten sidetracked by the topic of “men” again. I am on a “man” break at the moment. In recovery so to speak.
So yes…the windows.
Annie was staring at me. “Are you going to start inside or outside?” she asked. “Doesn’t much matter,” I said. “ Does it?”
“Depends,” she said,“on whether you can see what you miss from each side. Sometimes if you start on the outside, you miss the inside bits. And then when you go inside you realize you have missed a couple of outside bits and when you go to fix them… well – anyways its up to you of course.” And she hopped up on the sofa.
“So you are saying maybe I should start on the inside?” I asked.
“Not at all, she said. “Like you said, just start.”
“Great,” I thought to myself. Because I knew I was missing something. Now it mattered to me where to start.
Annie was snoring. With her eyes wide open. Not purring. Snoring. I reached over the sofa where she lay and sprayed a little window cleaner on the glass. As I began to wipe, she began to snore more quietly and her eyes closed and she fell into her afternoon cat coma. I cleaned and polished and checked and cleaned. When I thought it was perfect, I slipped on my shoes and popped out to do the outside next.
This time I used a bit stronger cleaner in a bucket and I really scrubbed and dried and polished. I looked through the window and saw my little friend still curled up sleeping and twitching away.
“Pretty good,” I smiled, satisfied with myself. Now I was really in the mood to do the rest. I went in to admire my work and to begin the next window.
Spots.
Little smudges.
Smears.
I looked at my cat with her eyes closed and I knew she was wide awake. I leaned over her and tried to polish the spots that were clearly on the outside.
“I think I need help,” I said aloud to no one in particular.
“Exactly,” came a nod from the couch.
Thanks, Mrs. B.
Catherine MacAdam
Image source: Heritage Cat Clinic
In Other Words 