I was walking from the kitchen to the lounge, when I saw My Antone dashing out of the lounge towards the bathroom. He reappeared seconds later with a clutch of toilet paper.
“Whatcha doing?” I asked.
“You don’t want to know,” he said, ducking down the outside of the sofa nearest the wall.
“Oh, have you found something… from the cat?” I wondered, not getting any closer.
“Like I said, you don’t want to know…”
“It’s a hairball is it?” I asked again. With this he reappeared from down the side of the sofa, little tissue parcel held tightly in his hand. He gave me a glare which communicated silently, “Like I said…” And with that he headed at a canter to the bathroom, and I returned to the kitchen.
I heard the toilet flush and he came into the kitchen a few suspicious moments later (I think he’d been examining ‘it’), and I was the first to speak.
“You’re right! I don’t want to know. We’re about to eat and if it’s gross I’d rather…”
“No, it’s ok,” he said. “If you want to know it was…”
“NO!!” I said. “I don’t want to know. You were right. I DON’T WANT TO KNOW.”
He tried to start a sentence a couple more times, but I was to fast for him by countering with a “Don’t!” or a sing-song “Not listening!!”
Eventually though, he broke through, shouting over me: “IT WAS A PRETZEL!!!”
I’d been eating pretzel chunks the previous evening on that end of the sofa. Now I could remember dropping one and thinking “Oh, must pick that up later.” And then I forgot.
Ooops. Emergency over. Cat remains blameless. FOR ONCE.
