Who knew my kitchen could be such a dangerous place?
Now, someone hears me? Now, somebody finally looks up?
I couldn’t help the smile creeping across my lips, even as the hood of the parked red car loomed closer into view.
People were looking now, huh. Were screaming now. Grabbing their children. Running away, even. Now, when two and one-half songs ago, they could have looked up and helped me. I wonder who’s calling?
This must look absolutely ridiculous to Mrs. Martha in 201-B, who I am sure has dropped that ridiculous ladybug coffee mug by now.
At least my fingers don’t hurt anymore, though they’re probably still bleeding from grabbing that windowsill for so long. Banged my knee really good on the faucet too. Guess I’ll never know how the cat food got all the way up there on top of the snack cabinet… still doesn’t make sense. Bet nobody’ll think to ask later anyway. Heck, who would even answer, Mitzy? “Meow, Meow. Meow!” Yeah. Heh. Poor kitty’s gonna be lonely now. I hope she finds a kid with really gullible parents before they try to stick her in a shelter. No one else in the condo has a cat. Maybe that little freckle-faced kid at the park where we usually walk after dinner?
Sirens now. What good will all that do? Better be the Mop-Up-Crew. If Mr. Stick-in-the-Butt downstairs in 1408-F hadn’t made the noise complaint, this would all be going down quietly. Well, except for the smashing glass, my screaming, and whatever noise this car is about to make.
The CD sort of set this whole thing in motion, though…
I couldn’t help being excited, it being release day and all. So, I dropped my bag and ran straight to the stereo when I came in from the store. I turned the stereo all the way up and started singing along. I couldn’t believe all the greatest hits were there on ONE CD! Not to be ignored, Mitzy had wrapped her orange cream-sicle body around my legs until I gave in and went to her empty bowl.
The second track started up as I rambled through the cabinets searching for her food. I think Mitzy liked that one; she seemed to be meowing along with me. Not finding any cans in the regular places, I kicked off my heels and used the brown bar stool to check the top shelves.
Track three kicked in just as the phone started ringing. Ignoring the phone, I stepped up on the counter to peek over the flour bags and coffee cans, knowing Mitzy had at least three or four cans of food left. Walking around the edge of the counter in my stockings, I shuffled through the tops of all the cabinets for the maddening little cans. Just as I wrote it off as a lost cause, I reached the top of the last set of cabinets being careful not to hit the drying dishes. There, in a neat little stack balanced on top of the canned hotdog-snack-things, was a lonely little can of Mitzy’s cat food!
Thrilled at my diligent success, I turned to my cat threw my hands in the air in triumph and sang along with the fourth track of my new favorite CD. At that exact moment, a barrage of loud, sharp thuds came crashing in against my front door. Completely unprepared for this attempted burglary on the 15th floor of my doorman-staffed condominium at 4:38 in the afternoon, I did what any sane person, standing behind a locked door in a kitchen full of knives, having graduated self-defense class, would have done. I panicked. Every muscle in my body seemed to briefly lock in place; except, apparently, the ones controlling my jaw, which fell open. My right foot, perched so precariously on the edge of the sink in the first place, began to slide forward away from my body.
Powerless to control myself, and expecting to simply slide down the sun-warmed window and crumple into the sink as the robber burst through the door, I felt my body tip backwards. I heard the crash. Felt the glass. Pinching. Bumping. Slicing. Meowing. Dripping. Twisting. Track four must be a remix. Screaming. Grabbing. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered the sound of running water and the rough, stiff texture of concrete under the tip of my left hand and right forearm, along with the absence of a place to rest my feet. I guess my knee had turned the faucet on. I was still screaming. I opened my eyes. Willing my jaws shut, and channeling all the air-punching arm-power Turbo-Jam ever gave me, I tried to pull myself up onto the five inch windowsill. Guess I skipped too many sessions. There was a brief, but rather effective, musical interlude between track four and five; during which, I heard the voice at the door yell, “…down now, or I’m calling the cops!”
OK, it was time to scream. I gave it all I had, in thirty second bursts of all out screaming, hollering, yelling, begging, everything my voice could do. Mitzy even threw in a little caterwauling on my behalf. Unfortunately for me, track five and six were pretty much dance hits.
As the final beats for track seven thrummed on the stereo, I realized these may well be my final moments on the planet, perched fifteen stories over Graham Street, listening to an Old School CD, staring at the “M” on the forehead of my overweight tabby cat. I thought of all the people who would miss me, all the things that would change in the world, and realized it was really just Mom, Dad and the cat. Dang, not much of a mark. If anyone got the wrong idea, they might think I just got mad at Mitzy and jumped out the window. Sure wish I could climb back in this window and do something people would miss before I tried to feed the cat again. Track nine now, I sure have been here a long time. Too bad Mr. Whiner-in-1408-F never actually calls the cops. Loser, I thought as my arms gave out just as the cell phone in the left pocket of my skirt began to ring…