Word Canoodling for your mind

Kitty Basket of Torture


Each morning we have a routine; let the dogs out to water the yard, feed the dogs, water the dogs, rinse, lather, repeat.

The entrance to our back porch has a sliding glass door from the dining room. We installed a Kitty door, to allow the cats the ability to “escape” from their tormentors whenever necessary. Little did we know that door would someday become an instument of torment itself.

Drew keeps her excess toys on the back porch. We’ve been going through said toys to build piles of donation acceptable, trash bin ready and keepers. It just so happens that an old Easter Basket, henceforth referred to as “Easter Basket of Terror” or “Kitty Basket of Torture”, got placed in the right position just outside of the kitty door. And that is where our story begins.

To set up the scene, I have to introduce you to our oldest and most corpulent cat, O’Malley. He’s a grey tabby with a penchant for dry cat food and licking toes. He dislikes our newest addition to the family, Belle, who is a Golden Retriver pup with a fondness for chasing kitty to play. He also remains the only cat in our home with a full set of claws which Belle has learned very quickly.

I get up for our morning routine and take the dogs out for the first stage. No big deal. We feed them and I round up all the animals to make sure they are out of the rooms prior to our leaving for the day. The dogs are pretty wound up at this point and ready for another gardening session. As I approach the sliding glass door, Belle sees O’Malley and makes a run for it. O’Malley, being the smart cat that he is, realizes that, rather than deal with the issue, he’ll just duck out the cat door and be done with the whole thing. After all, dad is going to lock her up for the day and he won’t have to deal with her for another 8 hours.

As planned, O’Malley makes a clean getaway and Belle is left with nothing but a slap in the face from the returning kitty door. I open the sliding glass door and hear a commotion coming from my left. What I see there nearly makes me pee myself.

It’s not the fact that O’Malley was IN the Easter Basket, but rather that he was too Large for it. He couldn’t stand up because of the handle, couldn’t get a leg out because of the high ridges and couldn’t think clearly enough to calm down and assess the situation with the big Yellow beast approaching him.

So imagine a big grey ball of fur twisting and writhing in a bright, cheery pink and yellow basket, hissing and growling, fliping and flopping but going no where. He finally got a leg out and managed to scoot himself a few inches before I was able to help him out. He hid in what I’m sure was utter shame and horror for the remainder of the morning.

As I turned to let the dogs out into the back yard, I could swear I saw a smile on Belle’s mouth. Was the basket strategically placed? Belle’s never been too bright, but this time, I’m not so sure…

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