Prints: Not Charming
It's not the pawprints themselves. …Well, it's not JUST the pawprints themselves.
I found said pawprints on top of the microwave, which is the sort of thing that is objectively revolting but which longtime pet owners choose to find hilarious instead lest we begin sobbing/retching uncontrollably instead. Another rationalization a pet owner MIGHT use is that she is actually LUCKY that "it was only" the little one who chose to cross the appliances on her travels, versus the old orange one (would have gotten marooned up there, then tried to leverage the trauma with a great deal of hammy wailing and hobbling about) or the late great fat one (would have left not prints, but rather a large dent with a couple of incriminating tabby hairs clinging to the sides) (…aw. RIP the Crisco Kid).
But the thing is, what the hell? You can't tell from the photo, but the wall is at the back there. The cat walked across the microwave from BEHIND it. Even if it had enough clearance for her to fit back there — and even Mabel is not that bitty, and also she is not that bitty anymore anyway, generally, because eight pounds doesn't sound fat for a cat, except if said cat's paw would fit on a nickel — what's the rationale? Well, and "who dumped a bag of Hecker's back there evidently HOBEY" because I do Swiffer back there, and this is up there with the mystery-bathtub-eyeshadow pawprint on the "henh?" scale.
I have a theory. I wish I didn't, because I developed this theory while planted on my left (facial) cheek with both OTHER cheeks in the air, peering under the oven to see if I could find the parts of my phone that fell out of my inadequately deep vintage-dress pocket (…grr, get the knack, sixties), hit the ground, and skidded under the oven and cabinets. Just like everywhere else I've ever lived, Far Thill has indoor terrain, hills inside, nearly every cabinet and bookshelf shimmed to Jesus, allowing all manner of hair elastics, free-spirited chickpeas and peanut M&Ms and scallion bits that fell on their sides and rolled to the light, bolts, caramel-corn spheres, berries, beads, and tiny pinecones lovingly transported home from a honeymoon IN THE TOE OF A SNEAKER to roll underneath along with, by conservative count, 194,385 cat toys and crumpled Post-Its thanks to a certain enthusiastic but minuscule warrior feline, and having watched in mingled amusement and terror just last night as Mabel pounced on a subscription card from New York that I absentmindedly hucked into the closet and TORE IT LIMB FROM LIMB like a tiny fuzzy wood-chipper, including the gnashing sounds but with additional Manson lamps and the fwumping of a Christmas-tree tail, MY THEORY IS THIS.
Mabel, having vowed to end Zebra Mousie, either flailed ZM or back-paw rage-pedaled ZM behind the microwave, then went back there after ZM and clambered all the way behind the shelving unit where all the sawdust and lost scissors live. Her mission to fish out and destroy ZM failed, so she stomped across the microwave, leaving her tiny mark as a lesson to…some? Me? Zebra Mousie, currently perfecting a "you'll nevah get me, coppah" Cagney impression in the exact center of the underside of that cabinet, just out of reach of the average hanger?
Once the two-man extraction team had finally fished the phone battery out from under the under-sink (don't ask), I didn't care to investigate further, mostly because a piece of stray kibble had lodged itself in my face, but also everyone's better off if Zebra Mousie just stays disappeared. But one day, we'll remodel. And then we'll have an answer. Today, we give the Brussels sprout SOMEONE mistook for a hockey puck a proper Christian burial.
Tags: Dirk Birthworthy fat cats feline fun times Jimmy Cagney orange cats tiny grey cats