The Cat Ate My Homework

Recently our cat Susie has been crazy hungry. She has a thyroid issue and extreme thirst and hunger are part of the symptoms, and she has been on medication for it quite a few years. But lately something has really gotten into her. She is cat, dog, and mouse all at the same time.

She begs for food while my husband and I are eating dinner. I thought it was fun at first, letting her sample from my plate after I was done, to see what she would eat - onions, broccoli, tomato vodka sauce. She ate it all. But now I push her away from my plate, regretting having started that bad habit.

There was a loaf of cranberry bread on our table, still in the pan and covered with aluminum foil. I had to chase her off the table after I caught her trying to scratch away the foil to see what was underneath. A few hours later I heard a crash and a tinny-sounding muffle. I came downstairs and there it was, loaf pan knocked to the floor, crumbs and nuts and cranberries skewed all over, Susie the cat munching away.

That next day I was taking a pumpkin pie out of the oven, and was just about to set it on the table to cool, but then there she was, hopping right up on the chair, her nose sniffing the cinnamon air, and I knew what was bound to happen were I to leave the pie there to cool. So, I lifted it high on the top of the refrigerator, almost spilling the hot mushy goodness in the process.

While food shopping Sunday morning I had picked up a loaf of “yoga bread” for a friend to try, and had it sitting on the landing by our front door so my husband would remember to drop it off to her. The next morning I awoke early and went downstairs to feed that hungry begging bugger of a cat, and what did I see? The plastic bread bag gnawed open, crusty crumbs all over the place.

Let me tell you, she’s damn lucky she’s cute.

Over the weekend my dashboard light for “check tire pressure” came on. Finally on Tuesday morning on my way to work I stopped at my trusted, tried, and true gas station to put air in my tires. I parked, grabbed a couple quarters from my console, got out into the brisk morning air and took the cap off the tire valve, grabbed and untangled the always-tangled dirty tubing and turned to put my money in the air machine and then I saw it. A tiny note taped to the machine – “out of order”.

Later that same day on my lunch hour I went to the ATM to deposit a check. I pulled up and the screen was black and guess what? Out of order. The whole bank was out of order, actually. They had a power failure for no apparent reason.

It reminded me of a show I used to watch – I think it was on ShowTime. The main character was played by Eric Stoltz and on each and every episode there was a point where he was trying to accomplish some task or errand and inevitably when he went to do it, there it was, a sign that read “out of order”. The show was actually called Out of Order. I thought it was a great show, but it only ran for one season.

Recently my life has been out of order, as much as everyone’s has been this past year or so to some extent or another. I am glad the year is coming to a close. Winter is the perfect excuse to hibernate from the world, curl up with a big book and mug of peppermint tea and dream of spring, and sun, and newness. Rebirth.

Rebirth. Like my irises. They are blooming in December. Even Mother Nature is out of order.


“The elevator to success is out of order. You'll have to use the stairs... one step at a time.” ~Joe Girard