My new refrigerator looms. It's huge. When the delivery guy hooked it up, and pushed it into it's space he said, "fit's perfect."
I said, "well, it doesn't stick out too far."
"No, it's perfect." he insisted, brushing his hands together. I'm not sure if he was that convinced of it's perfection, or of his conviction that that refrigerator wasn't going anywhere else. No matter. I wasn't worried, it wasn't going back. This was just a matter of seeing the space as over full, or under empty.
I'm an under empty kinda guy. I get a little claustrophobic when my appliances loom. I already have an innate fear of the inanimate. All the silver and black in my kitchen makes me feel like a Bronco's fan at a Raiders game, and they're all out of bubble gum…
Yeah, that last joke was a stretch If you got it, you watch way too many B-movies. It's good to have you on board. If you didn't, you can Google away your feline curiosity, or simply follow the blind mans blog. It won't effect your life in any great or grand ways. Just a spooky surprise or smile. Me? I'll just keep going. I see things that make me pause all the time. My promise to you is that I'll do my best to pass them on and keep my blog eternally under empty.
Like my kitchen.
Every time I pass the space, I see the loomer. I waved the delivery guy off and returned to my office. There's the incredible hulk. I'm renaming that space off the dining room, the fridge room.
"fit's perfect."
Huh…under empty…
I should mention I am a multi-tasker. Why should I mention that? Cuz it's unimportant. I need under-filler to support this story, cuz it certainly can't support itself. Besides I never know who who's reading. It may be somebody in need of a multi-tasker. Hi, I'm Rob, I can suit your multi-tasking needs. Watch me weave a story and drop in unimportant facts. All the while, I'll Jack Daniels and sing the National Anthem. I am that good.
Fridge day's multi-tasking didn't include gargling. I'm not even sure I brushed my teeth. That could explain the delivery guy's hurry to get out of the house. Anyway, it did include laundry and that laundry included household stuff I never wash--like rugs. I never wash rugs. I did on fridge day because they were dirty and they were also loomed. That's right funny folk, so were my fruity underwear.
I have faux wood floors, so I leave little rugs everywhere, to add a faux carpet effect. It's like stepping stones for shoed people and horses.
"Follow the rag rugged road…"
Those rugs get really dirty, almost suddenly. One day I'll be walking from one end of the house to the other and go, "HOLY CRAP! THAT'S DIRTY!" and not be talking about the late night movie on Cinemax.
So I gather the rugs and run a few loads just to clean them up. When they're dry, I either lay them back out, or I throw them on the guest room bed, to throw later. I mean, who am I kidding? Nobody is coming to my house, it doesn't need to be immediate.
The latter bed thing is what I did. It was late the house was dark, and I wasn't in the mood to go to the extra effort. There was an extra presence in my house, and I couldn't quite figure it out, and yet it loomed in my subconscious like a refrigerator beckoning a hungry man.
As more under-filler, I should add that the guest bed has a Kermit the Frog on it. It was mine as a kid, and he now wears a Stewart plaid tie my dad gave me to honor my Scottish heritage. I of course have tarnished that heritage by putting it on a frog.
I threw the rugs on the bed and Kermit's bell rang. Funny, he has a tie--not a bell. My Opus has a bell, but he's in the closet. He's been a bad penguin, he needed to be punished.
Bell? There's no light in the guest room so I can't see. I put my hand on the bed and bounce it: no jingle.
Huh.
Maybe it's under the rug stack--whatever. I leave the guestroom, and the floor jingles with my steps.
That's odd…
It must be something I knocked down. I jump up and down: No jingle. Screw it, I'll figure it out later. I need to get back to work. Walking back to the office, I pass the fridge room. There's that presence again.
"It's you, isn't it?"
The fridge stares--and looms.
Creepy.
In my office I work till the wee hours, and get up to relieve myself. I pass the fridge both times, and wonder again, "Is it over full?"
My new fridge does have a night light, so if I want something extra, it'll enhance my evening with a eerie glow. Awesome. On that ray of sunshine, I go to bed.
One problem with new appliances, (because I obviously don't have enough problems with my new appliance) is that they make new noises. My old fridge had an ice maker. It took forever to get used to the ice drop crash. This one is louder. It runs quieter, but it drops ice like 10 kids shooting dice. If I hear, "Yahtzee!" I am so getting out of this house.
There's a new presence. I feel it. The new fridge noises don't help the loud ice, the loud water refill, the strange yowl, just as I fall asleep…
Yowl?
Did my fridge just yowl? I'm half asleep, I heard something. Maybe a weird motor grind. Yowl? My mice don't even yowl. What the hell?
I lie there, listening.
I hear nothing.
More nothing.
Must be my imagination.
I begin to drift.
YOWL!
Holy Crap! Now I'm sitting up in bed. That sounded like a cat! Do I have ghost cats wandering my house?
Me-YOWL!
Definitely a cat. Sounds inside. Where? What? What time is it? 5 am: Not the alarm.
Me-YOWL!
Ok, fine, I'm the man, woman and child of the house. I need to get up and find my voice. I walk to the edge where the hall Ts. One side goes to the living room, the other side goes to the fridge room and the office.
The fridge room. It's you isn't it? You brought this banshee to my house?
Loom!
I wait. Nothing. I stand silently. I'm falling asleep again. I need to move. I slink--er stumble--into the living room.
Motion! Shadow! Dark!
Why is it so dark? Noise to my left. Weight room?
That's it! I'm tired of this. I've seen this movie. Guy chases after cat noise, becomes fridge snack for late night alien. No thanks. I turn on the light. I need to see my nemesis.
I reach over, the light on the porch goes on. Wrong one. I reach over again, the foyer lights up--and there it is, in all it's evil.
2 pounds of black kitten, staring me down. Pink collar with a dollar bell and nickel sized paws.
"Yahtzee!"
I bend down to talk to my captive. I know this girl, she chases my gophers She must have come in with the fridge. I reach out to reassure her. She backs away. I wait, and she turns around like "aren't you following?"
Yeah, I do know her.
"Come here, girl."
After some coaxing she gets close enough for me to reach out and pet her. From there I draw her in. She's a cutie. The only female who's been in this house for quite some time. Apparently females are not as big and scary as I thought.
I pet the cat for a few minutes, before putting her back outside. She was just lost and lonely. Once back in her world, she's back in control. I know how she feels.
It's funny living alone. Cats turn into tigers, fridges become monsters, and life gets scarier. Some days you just have to get up and face it though. And once you know, once you see it for what it is, then you can go back to sleep.
This morning I got up and poured a glass of water from my new refrigerator. I stood back and sipped the cup, and admired the new fridge room. You know what? It fits perfectly.
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