|An Offensive End|
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Well, Singe My Tailfeathers!
Yesterday morning I got out of bed, and as my custom has become, went out to stand by our emergency-now-everyday heater for a minute or two. (We'll get to that in a later post.) Within moments, a horrible smell filled the air.
Hastily I checked the pants of my adorable red valentine jammies to make sure I hadn't overheated them. No, they were just nicely warmed, not charred and smoking. I resumed warming. Another wave of the terrible odor assailed me.
"It has to be my jammies," I muttered as I leaped away again. But no, they were still just warm, and no more than that.
Just then, Lila, one of Tina's former cats, walked by the heater, rubbing up against it. The tip of her proudly waving tail was just level with the top of the heater, the only part that gets too hot to touch. Immediately the smell of scorched hair filled the room once again.
Lila walked blithely on. With so much fur to spare, she had no idea she was as burnt as toast. A careful check of her fur revealed that she was completely uninjured, and still has almost 2 inches of fur to go before she starts to notice that her tail is getting hot.