The Mother Hen

Wash With Like Colors and Tumble Dry Low (A Precautionary Tail)

Typically I don't blog at 8:30 in the morning. Usually I blog at night after Samily have gone to bed and while Hot Jeff reads the paper and I just schedule it to post the next morning while you are sleeping soundly. Bestie Kim likes to read it with her morning coffee so I try to please her by having fresh stuff up in the am. Today though, my home is in post-vacation tornado status and I'm trying to do anything and everything instead of cleaning it. I'm pretty sure the disaster known as post-vacation is covered under my homeowners insurance.

I also needed to get another post up because seriously, how lame was yesterday's post? I'm not even sure telling you about how good it felt to sleep in my own bed counts as a real post. You can stop throwing tomatoes at me...I have a good post for you today. The suggestion comes from Eric the Bastard who I don't think is a bastard anymore. Thanks to our mutual friend, Green-Bean Stir Fry Rachel, we are now Facebook friends and it appears he has stopped breaking up with girls who have black eyes, and breaking up with girls who have black eyes is the sole reason he was a bastard.

Eric the not-a-bastard-anymore read the post about me killing my neighbor's cat and sent me a note on Facebook reminding me of the time my cat Macy got locked in the dryer. Yes, I said dryer. As in the large household appliance used to remove moisture from a load of clothing. Just making sure we're on the same page.

It was the summer between my sophomore and junior year of college and I was still living at home at my Mom's house in Park City. We had some company coming from out of town the following day. Having sworn off summer classes, I was home washing bedding for the guest bedroom. The bedspread on the guest bed was a charming quilt my Mom had sewn; it was thick and cozy and a favorite place for my cat, Macy, to lay. To be ready for company I decided to wash it and hang it out on the line to dry.

Only minutes after I hung the freshly washed, wet quilt out on the line it started to rain. I darted out the back door and rescued the rung out quilt from becoming dripping with the Montana summer shower.

I had just put the quilt in the dryer when the phone rang. Leaving the dryer door open I ran to answer the phone. It was Eric the not-a-bastard-yet calling to confirm our dinner plans for that evening. With the cordless phone I went back to the laundry room and without thought or hesitation, finished shoving the quilt in and shut the dryer door. I turned it on for 70 minutes and turned the setting to "Cotton/Sturdy". I turned out the light and shut the door before sitting and gabbing on the phone.

About 5 minutes in to the conversation I said to Eric, "I hear something. I hear a weird thumping". I sat quietly, listening closer. Me-ooow. Thump. Me-ooow. Thump. Me-oow. Thump. Like a bolt of lightning it hit me what had happened, I shouted in to the phone, "oooooooh nooooooo" and dropped it, sprinting to the laundry room. I flung open the dryer door and madly dug into the quilt. I felt damp fur and gently pulled the limp cat from the inside of the heavy, still sodden quilt. Macy weakly cried as I patted her head.

This would be a good time for Eric to comment and let us know if I hung up the phone or if he had to just sit and listen to me sob and pray that I hadn't killed my cat. I don't remember. I just remember the feel of her clammy fur and how her tongue hung droopily out of her panting mouth.

I rushed outside to the patio in an attempt to cool her down. The rain was softly falling and it was cool for a June day. I sat out there, holding her and crying for 10 minutes or so when I decided to come in and call the veterinarian.

The vet had me do a few home-tests to test Macy's vision and hearing and since she was standing and her tongue wasn't hanging out anymore he concluded she didn't need to be seen. She was walking like it was her 21st birthday but overall she seemed to be coming out of it ok.

I went on to have pizza at Eric's house that night and Macy went on to live another 4 or 5 years, much to mother's chagrin. When she died years after the unpleasant event I had Mom bury her in a Maytag box with a fabric sheet.


p.s.
This is why I don't blog while the kids are awake...Samuel just cut Emily's hair.