what makes a monday a monday?

We have one of those flimsy kitty water fountains with an amazingly tough little motor in it and a big reservoir of waiting water — at least when recently filled, as ours had been only last night. The water dispenses on its own through some combination of gravity and other science-y concepts that make my head hurt. The whole gizmo works pretty well, unless the motor gets gunked up through my stalwart denial that it’s time to clean the thing again, or if something, like a wayward hand-towel, happens to land partway in the drinking well, causing the fountain to keep pumping out water to make up for all that’s being sponged away.

Enter this morning’s fateful hand-towel, fallen in the night, who knows how, or why, and whether human- or kitty-assisted. And the towel quickly became saturated, as towels will, then started draining water out onto the floor, where the other end of the fabric had inconveniently landed.

So then I enter the bathroom at a little before 6 a.m., with my current one good eye, and sort of see this: Two perturbed cats sitting upright in the dry spots of tile between the floodwaters moating the toilet and extending over to the shower and past the sink. The cats are waiting for me to get in there and make the fountain work again, and get it to stop churning a faint amount of bubbly water from the stray soap that had apparently gotten onto the towel.

And, yes, to also feed them, the smug bastards.

And just for added emphasis, a pile of yack wilted there beside the food bowl. Which was standing in water.

I was indeed late for work.

Monday.

^{_{<Post likes lost from original blogsite>}}