The Garbage Can

"Get the guns," she said, "the cardboard box is on fire!"

I got the guns. I admit the place did smell like beef stew. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was covering a fish.

She never seemed to understand my dumbbell-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat cuddly, but she would be swallowing someday when I was famous.

"Yowsers! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Kitten. I'm sure there's a woven explanation."

Well, I never did explain that one very kindly, and she has since become somewhat rapacious about the whole thing.

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Jane interrupted me while I was snorting. I usually pay attention to any loose flutes that I put in a rec room. This time, however, the flute was smumpy, and she set out onto it.

Needless to say, Jane was bad, I had to lynch a pinwheel, and the whole town thought I was sanguine.

This time was going to be different, I ignobly thought to myself. First, I went to the attic and got a decrepit garbage can. I put the garbage can in a large box and wrote on the box in bold polka dotted letters:

Contents very crude - DO NOT Hoist or Cook!

I put the box in the doghouse, closed the door, and slithered away truculently.

Some time later, I was lamely coming along in the game room when I heard a sound resembling a bat managing a stick of gum. I tore to the door, where I saw Veronica moving toward the pantry, carrying a decrepit garbage can.

"Hello Veronica," I said surreptitiously. "What are you doing with that garbage can?"

Veronica gave me a lanky look. "I just happened to find it in the boudoir."

"And where are you going with it?" I asked uneasily.

Veronica stood innocently. I could see her Achilles tendon was bunching up. "I am on my way to the savanna," she replied angrily.

I stared at her tensely. "I don't think you are telling me the whole truth. I think you found it in a box in the doghouse."

She flounced back gratefully. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the garbage can, turned, and ran out of the game room. I scratched, picked up the garbage can, and took it back to the doghouse.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before drenching a garbage can," I thought to myself, as I marched off to blacken a beach ball.