I didn’t sleep well last night. Or the night before. Or, even, the night before that. I’m not sure why, and it doesn’t even matter, anyhow. The point is that my string of sleepless nights explains why I stumbled out of my bedroom at around 11:30 AM, still feeling bleary-eyed and muddled. My daughter met me in the hallway.
“Don’t go in my room,” she said, her words abrupt and unaccompanied by the typical morning niceties of a greeting. Or asking if I had slept well. Even in my befuddled state, I knew this did not bode well.
“Why?” I asked. I didn’t want to know the answer. I would have much preferred to grunt something unintelligible, shrug my shoulders and stumble my way, caveman-like, down the stairs and into the kitchen. I didn’t want to care about the reasons why it was so important I didn’t go into my daughter’s room. Heck, part of my brain — that little, reptilian bit we all posses, which takes control when we are tired or particularly annoyed — really didn’t care. At all. And yet, I found myself standing there, barefoot and wishing for anything caffeinated, asking this question. Don’t you find life is often like that? There are so many times when you don’t want to know the answers to things … when you just don’t want to care. And yet, you find yourself asking the questions, anyhow. Even though you have that “this is gonna be bad” feeling of doom eating away at the pit of your stomach. Like a moth drawn to a particularly large flame.
“Kitty barfed all over my room,” my daughter replied. She smiled a little bit, as if relieved she had finally passed on the burden of this knowledge to someone else. And, even better than that, to the one adult currently in the house who would do something about the problem. Even if they didn’t want to.
Our cat is cute. She is fluffy and soft, with big, blue eyes. And she purrs when you sit next to her. It’s a comforting sound. Sometimes, she even licks your hand, just to show how very much she loves you. All of this is a very clever ruse to disguise the truth: she is, in fact, evil. Just when you least expect it, the evilness bubbles out of her, usually in the form of barf, which she likes to put in various creative and entertaining spots — like the middle of the pathway to and from a room, the middle of the top step on the third flight of stairs, or in your shoe.
I think you will realize I speak the truth when I say this: Nothing good can come of a day that starts out with cat barf. Not that I had very high expectations, to begin with … But I felt them rapidly evaporating. I think they made a little popping sound as they disappeared into the ether.
But then, I hopped over to WordPress. I found my fellow bloggers had been busy while I was (not) sleeping. There were funny entries to read. There were endearing stories of memories and haunting ones of loss. There were opinions and wise words. Best of all, I found kind-hearted souls had left wonderful, lovely comments on my blog. Just … wow!
Like the proverbial Phoenix rising from the ashes, I felt my day turning around. It wasn’t an immediate thing, but, with each smile or giggle, I felt I could hear that giant bird softly flapping his wings as he flew — up, up, and up — pulling himself from the ashes of his own destruction and dragging my crappy day along for the ride. And at that moment, I knew something without a doubt: You, my fellow WordPress bloggers and friends, are superheroes. For you managed to save a day. Not just any day, but a day that started with cat barf. For this, I thank you.