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Of Course

December 25, 2009

I’m catsitting Seneca and housesitting his house for the next while. This morning I went over to give him some lovin’, and upon arrival I found I had just cause to use the facilities. Seneca, like Sappho, is one of those cats who simply must follow you into the bathroom and hang out with you while you pee. So there we both were.

I believe I have previously written at some length about the plumbing mishaps that inevitably occur when I’m taking care of someone else’s home. With the urinary proceedings having finished, I flushed the toilet. Or, rather, attempted to. I pressed the handle down and the toilet made a halfhearted “Yeah, I hear you, I’m just not interested” type noise. I shook my fist at Zeus. I pulled the cover off the tank and got to work. Seneca jumped onto the rim of the bathtub to watch. There was a certain brightness in his eyes that I didn’t think any good could come of. I warned him that if he jumped into the tank he would have to go around soaking wet for the rest of the day. He made a halfhearted “Yeah, I hear you, I’m just not interested” type noise.

And it came to pass, in that bathroom, that I rolled up my sleeve and plunged my arm into the frigid waters of a toilet tank. On the baby Jesus’ birthday.

In case the friends whose house it is are reading this: I did manage to figure out what the problem was and restore the toilet to health, gods be praised. It was nothing serious.

In other news, here are some words that share roots with “Christmas”: grisly, grime, cream, promise, mess, missile, Kommissar.

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