Yesterday morning, about 3:30 a.m. I made a slight, well-intentioned miscalculation, at which point all Hell broke lose.
I had just finished the dishes when I noticed a can of cat food on the counter with a spoon sticking out of it. Mary had apparently forgotten to feed the cat her late night meal before she went to bed. Well, I thought, amiable husband and pet owner that I am, I can do that.
Cat food is nasty! Nevertheless I undertook the save-the-cat mission. The cat was wide awake on the kitchen island behind me, and whining. I would rather listen to ice freeze than Pinkie whine. I got the food; I got Pinkie's food tray; I dutifully scraped a little pile of vile looking stuff into her tray. She was pacing and whining now. I set the tray on the island, at which point enter Simon stage left and Schuster stage right.
Okay, I can handle that. Simon gets to lick the icky can, Schuey gets to lick the icky spoon. Each performed admirably. I dropped the cleaner spoon and cleaner can into the left-over dirty dish water.
As I turned around I saw that Simon and Schuster had gone to the kitchen door to be let out. At FOUR am. With Simon who does not always like to go out, it is best to take no chances. Besides, he barked twice which brought Dumb-ass Dexter into the kitchen, along with not-so-fearsome Frollie. Mind you, Mary has been sick for a week and asleep for several hours. Dumb-ass Dexter starts to bellow to be let out (he is a beagle!). The Vivint alarm had been set. I got out my clicker to disarm it before an unfolding cacophony could take place. The clicker light turned red, contact, I threw up the lock bar to get the door open and stop the dog noise, when all Hell really broke lose. Dexter bellowed, the dachshunds barked, the Vivint alarm decided, apparently, that the door had not been properly disarmed before being opened, so it went off in the most annoying way possible, even though I had sent the correct disarm code into the keypad, on my second attempt. At which time Mary woke up. A loud speaker phone voice from the bowels of our house (that's downstairs, by the lower level front door) announced that she was so and so from Vivint (that is way the Hell out in Utah!). I yelled to the speaker downstairs that I was coming. She said take your time. (Oh sure. The cops are just minutes away.) I hobbled down the stairs, gave her my name and the correct password. She thanked me, told me to have a good day or something, and signed off. Mischief managed.
Mary emerged from the bedroom: "Are we having fun then?" she pleasantly inquired. I just glared at her and swore, swore that I would never again feed that darn cat wet food in the middle of the morning.
By that time the dogs were back in the house, Pinkie had retreated to wherever Pinkie retreats when chaos threatens, and Mary and I wrapped up the situation and went to bed.
One thing I like about Webster, or Spenser (two esses, like the poet), is that he never desires to lick nasty cat food cans or go out to do his business in the middle of the night!
Oh Lord! The wind has picked up and I swear something is moving on the balcony one wall away from where I am sitting. There were two very loud thumps, and footsteps. Thank God the system is armed, and there are two wired doors between me and big loud Whatever! And a snappy, alert young lady in Utah!