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Tonight Patty and I were watching the old Jack Lemmon - Shirley MacLaine movie, "The Apartment," one of my old time favorites. Patty wasn't as enthused as I was, and towards the end of the movie she lay her head on my lap and fell asleep. Subconsciously she must have been listening to it, because I had the volume turned way up. Mac was curled up behind her knees, Cherokee was up by her tummy, Sasha was under the blanket with Patty, and Samantha was on the back of the couch lying on a big throw pillow. Everyone was asleep but me.
Came the big finale. The theme music was playing full blast as Shirley MacLaine ran down the street, in the front door of the apartment, and up the stairs to reunite with the great love of her life. Just as she hit the landing in front of Jack Lemmon's apartment, there was a mighty "BANG!" like a gunshot.
The noise startled Sam out of a sound sleep and made her fall, pillow and all, on Patty just as she started up. Suddenly there was a flurry of flying cats and dog as Patty hit the floor in a wild scramble and yelled, "S**T!" (Potty Mouth strikes again) All five pairs of wide, staring eyes focussed on me as the probable cause of any upset in the household. But, honest, I didn't do it this time.
It is now bedtime, but you couldn't tell it by looking. Everyone but me has this tense, terribly alert look about them. Mac is trying to get out to the back yard, Cherokee is looking at a map trying to find the shortest route back to the animal shelter, and Sam is trying to dial her former owner to get her to come to the rescue. Sasha was last seen heading upstairs four steps at a time.
Sure is lively around here at times.
Editor's note:
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