January 7th, 2014

Why I Drank The Cat’s Water On A Snowday, And More

by Hilary Price

I was in my first pair of pajama pants this morning talking to my friend on the phone when she said something funny and I started to choke on a piece of ham in the split pea and ham soup I’d made in my Crockpot from 1972.

So I grabbed the closest glass of water.  The cat’s.  Some went down my throat, the rest went into my lap.

I changed pajama pants.

Later I was talking on the phone with my girlfriend Kristin and telling her about the ham-choking-catwater debacle when I heard noises in the basement and my cat Tom shot down the stairs.  My dog Rocky started to follow him, but he is not allowed to do stairs because he’s injured.  So as I was grabbing my 86 pound dog, a woodpecker flew past my head and went straight for the picture window.

Kristin heard the ruckus and said, “Should I call you back?”

I say, “No, no.  It’s a woodpecker.  Let me grab a dishtowel.”

There are chairs all over my sofas (see previous blog post) so Rocky was unable to hurl himself at the woodpecker, giving me time to cover the bird and open the french doors.

Kristin: “Are you sure we shouldn’t get off the phone?”

Me: “I got it.”

I had the bird in one hand and the phone in the other and walked along the icy deck.  Then I was butt-first in the snow.  (Note:  Crocs are not good winter shoes.  Not just for the holes in them, but for the pancake smooth tread on the bottom.)

Kristin:”Are you there?  Did the woodpecker fly away?”

I checked the dishtowel.  Empty.

I am writing this post in pajama pants #3.