What? Well, sure you can sit there. Sit anywhere you like, just don’t open that drawer.
I shouldn’t have said anything.
You’re going to open that drawer now, aren’t you?
You realize that the sound of the drawer opening is going to have repercussions, right?
Look at you, throwing caution to the wind. You’re going to do it, aren’t you? You, with your hand on the drawer pull. Go ahead. Open it. Just don’t say I didn’t warn --
Wow. You couldn’t even wait for me to finish the sentence, could you?
Like so many other actions, the simple act of opening a specific drawer in the living room at my place has an immediate reaction.
Dolly Gee Squeakers, formerly of the Humane Society Squeakers, knows all about that drawer, and upon the sound of wood on sliding wood, comes shooting out of the hall, out of the pile of yet-to-be-washed towels she has buried herself in, and drops her fuzzy butt at your feet.
“I’m just getting the hand lotion,” I say, closing the drawer.
The cat believes this to be a lie, fixes her blue eyes on me – or are they on the wall behind me? With her slightly crossed eyes, it can be hard to tell.
“No,” I say.
She cocks her head to one side, surveys the surface of the coffee table. If the drawer has been opened, surely treats cannot be far behind?
She stands on her hind legs, cautiously runs a front paw over the surface of the coffee table. She tilts her head, squints her eyes. I’ve long suspected that Dolly Gee, long-haired foot-traffic obstacle and esteemed Squeaker of the House, may be ever-so-slightly seeing-impaired.
She feels around again.
Nope. Still no treats.
Dang it. She’s just so cute when she does that…
I open the old drawer, and there is the sound of wood on wood.
And I pull out the Pounce treats.
Just to see Dolly stand on her hind legs.