Where I was making pizza for dinner and chatting with our two-year-old about how it is necessary to put lots and lots of pepperoni on in layers. Then I heard a mewing. A small, frightend mewing. The cat! She's shut up in somewhere! But where?
The first choice would be the pantry, where she gets shut in at least three times a day:
Mew, mew, mew! Hold on a minute, the pizza needs to go in the oven! Mew, mew! Ok, ok! I hear you! Where the hell are you?! (listens) Sounds like you're in the cabinet. How did you get in there?
So I open up the cabinet and...
What the heck, man? Mew! Mew! Mew! I hear you! Where are you? Don't be scared, I'll find you! The sound is coming from the cabinet still. But you aren't in there? Are you under the cabinet? It sure sounds like it. How did you get in there? How am I going to get you out?! I can't take a sledgehammer to it, I might hurt you in the process! I can't leave you in there to die! Oh Zoë, what am I going to doooooo?
The offspring's reactions to me:
Mew, mew, meeeeeew! I hear you! I hear you. Wait. I do hear you but you aren't under and in the cabinet...
%#*@&%#@*%^ cat. How the hell did you get in there? Hmmm?
Oh two year old, I think we need to have a talk....
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