(Also entitled, "Grampa's Bonus")
I got up this morning smelling the wonderful morning fragrances I will forever associate with Granma's house--coffee, toast, applesauce, and sizzling bacon (yummmmm).
I wandered downstairs as usual, where we all eat together--Daddy and Grandad having already gone out for their morning coffee-and-chat with the guys, and us girls all in our pajamas.
This morning, Grampa told us a story about a friend who passed away several years ago, Chuck, and another friend Charlie. Apparently Chuck had a brand new Dodge pickup that he left unlocked at the coffeeshop right after he bought it. Charlie got there after Chuck had already gone inside, and Charlie turned on the radio full blast and set the windshield wipers to high, and the heater running and so on. He got out to come inside, turning the Ram hood ornament to face the driver's window as he passed.
Once Chuck came out and started his car, it was all sound and fury, and he worked to get everything turned off. He looked up to see his Ram looking at him from the front of his truck. After that he always locked his truck
But Grampa, chuckling, was not done. He told us that ever after that, until Chuck passed away, really, he (Grampa) would always turn the ram on the truck around as he came into the coffeeshop if Charlie's truck was also there. And every single morning, Chuck would chew out Charlie, who had no idea what was going on.
"And you know, I kind of feel bad," Grandad ended, "He died without ever knowing it was me and not Charlie who did that all those years."
You would think that would be enough entertainment for one morning.
Dad left to change the oil in the car, Granma and I did dishes, Mom went upstairs to get ready, Grampa sat down in his chair...
...Nefret was exploring.
She made her way over to Grampa's chair and started sniffing around a paper shopping bag. I looked over just in time to see a very upset-looking tail fly by, with the bag covering her head and body. The bag ran was making a loud flapping noise, and there was an undercurrent of feline profanity coming out underneath (where she learned to talk like that, I do not know). The bag (and cat, presumably) ran into the wall, turned the corner into the hall, bounced wall to wall down the hall and then veered into the living room.
By this time I realized that the cat needed some kind of help, so I ran after her and got to the living room/dining room in time to see her bash into the [closed] door trying to get back into the kitchen. Stunned, she turn around, and run straight into my legs. I grabbed her and unhooked the bag handle from her collar and carried her back into the family room, where we spent a few minutes with her cowering in my arms on the couch.
Her tail was all puffed out, her eyes were totally dilated, and she was shaking. Once her breathing seemed more controlled, I let her down and she went and hid on the stairs, peeping through the banisters at us.
For a good hour after that, the poor thing jumped at every little sound, and when Momma came back down, she ran to her and begged to be held.
Grandad and I couldn't stop laughing for the rest of the morning. He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes and said,
"Aah, I feel like i just got some kind of a bonus."
Isn't life ironic?