Life continued as expected in beautiful Anchorage, Alaska this weekend. The large, bald one even managed to come home each evening over the weekend. In fact, she was home so much that she did the most unexpected thing. A thing I have not seen her do since we left our long-term home in Marina Del Rey. It made me feel both afraid and at ease, a very disorienting experience.
It all started when she arrived home on Wednesday evening, carrying one of the largest machines I have ever seen her maneuver on her own accord. Upon lugging the inanimate beast through the door, it fell to the ground and then glided across the floor, seemingly placing itself against the wall.
I eyed the beast all night long, but it laid dormant. Eventually, I drifted to sleep.
The next day Michele sat down for a full day of work. By the time dinner rolled around I had forgotten about the foreign beast completely. This is when it happened.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Michele grabbed the beast by the neck and it roared to life, emitting a high-pitched, persistent hum that pierced the air and greatly disturbed my delicate sensibilities.
She guided the machine across the carpet, making sure that the beast touched every inch of our floor at least once. At first, I was confused, but as I watched the terrible scene from underneath the bed, I started to understand what was really happening. The beast was eating the deposits of cat fur that I had been strategically placing around the room for weeks now. I had finally finished covering the room in my fur and scent and now the large, loud beast was erasing my efforts in one fail swoop.
As soon as the noise subsided, I emerged. I surveyed the damage and concluded that I had a lot of work to do. I began willing myself to emit as much cat hair as possible as I rubbed across any piece of furniture I could find. Michele will thank me later.