“Off” ing the cat
I was visiting a good friend, Hilary, in Goderich this past week. Her mother in law, Carran, was visiting at the time and so, one night, I found myself sitting across the kitchen table from these two and discussing Carran’s newest living arrangements. You see, she’d just recently moved in with her beau, Bob, and was having some difficulty adjusting. And I couldn’t help but notice that a lot of the difficulty seemed to be stemming from a big, puffy-sounding cat. She mentioned how she couldn’t leave her sewing machine out on the table where she got the best light for quilting because the CAT liked to lie there. And she kept saying how there seemed to be no end to the cat fur and dust, no matter how often she cleaned, it was everywhere.
I listened sympathetically and, at some moment, judged we were comfortable enough for me to make a slightly morose joke, so I said, “…sounds like you just need to off the cat”.
There was a pause.
Then a slightly embarrassed look on Carran’s part.
“Actually,” she said, “I did accidentally off the other cat. It got into the dryer when I was doing a load of laundry and I killed it.”
Oops.
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