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"The Plumber Comes A Calling..."
Her little face was inverted and stuck squarely into the bathroom faucet. She was catching drips. Drips? I check under the sink, and it's wet. Great, now what? Mr. Tally is out of town, and I've got drips and leaks. When I tell him over the phone, he starts talking about water pressure and I've got to call a plumber right away. I hate calling repairmen. First of all, I can never remember who I called last time, and the Los Angeles yellow pages are overwhelming. I get out the toilet plunger and lay the telephone book down on the floor. I spin the plunger. Pick one, I tell it. I call, and tell them it's an emergency. Of course it is. Everything in my life is an emergency.
Within hours the doorbell rings, and Zeke hits the floor running. I peer through the window. The first thing that strikes me is the van parked in my driveway with a Macy's-Thanksgiving-Day-Parade-sized faucet stuck on its roof and a sign underneath that says "No job is too big to handle". The embroidered sign on the plumber's shirt says "Bob", so I open the door and let Bob in while pushing my foot across the door jam to barricade it off from the curious. We have two types of cats in our house. Nosey and Timid.
Sammy and Buster immediately come up for a sniff. Buster wrinkles his nose. "Eeeeeu! He's got a dog." "No, wait. Here's another one", says Sammy. "He's got two dogs!" "Who is this guy and what's he doing in my house?" demands Boots. Sssssh, I tell him. Don't be rude. I look up at the plumber, but he doesn't appear to have heard. I hope you don't mind cats, I tell him. "This ought to be good", snorts Boots.
Make that Obnoxious and Timid.
As I lead the plumber into the hall bathroom he trips over the small scratching post in the hall corner and a jingle ball careens off his shoe and across the floor. Gee, sorry. I don't know how this got into the middle of the hall. I'm glaring at the cats that are smirking behind me. I lead him into the bathroom and show him the faucet, which is cooperatively dripping away.
I have thought ahead and removed everything from underneath the sink. It's all piled up in a heap in a corner on the bathroom floor. Gizmo has nestled himself in on top of the open package of extra soft Big Roll toilet paper, which Kenya has already had an opportunity to shred into blizzard size pieces. Tally is sitting in the empty cabinet under the sink, doing nothing. Just sitting in that empty space with his little empty head. Excuse me, I tell Bob as I pull Tally out. It's just water, I reassure him, when he looks undecidedly at the damp spot on the floor. "Geez", sniffs an offended Tally. "Dawg owner don't understand the concept that we're smart enough to use litter boxes".
Kenya is still up on the counter batting away at the drips. As Bob conducts his examination the sink stopper begins to move up and down. Now she's conflicted. Which to bat first? The drip or the stopper, the stopper or the drip? It's too much for her and she jumps into the sink and sits on the stopper. Bob is grunting down below because the stopper isn't moving. Meanwhile Donovan, having seen Bob lying on the floor on his back has taken this as an invitation, and has crawled up onto his chest. Aaaack! I hastily pry him off, but I hear a few claws pulling on fabric and a muffled squeal from underneath the sink. As I'm profusely apologizing, I'm wondering if our homeowner's liability insurance is paid up, and I make a mental note to clip Donny's claws as soon as I can muster up the courage.
Yep, says Bob, you've got a wasted washer here. No problem. Need to get something from the truck. Fine, I say. I'll cover you. I grab the squirt bottle and with my back to the door, I cover Bob as he exits. Get back I tell them, waving the squirt bottle menacingly. I ignore the expression on Bob's face. I've seen it before.
I let the plumber back in and the phone rings. I hear him stepping on a squeak toy as I run to answer it. While I'm chatting on the phone with mom I catch a glimpse of Sammy fleeing down the hall with something white in his mouth. I gotta go, Ma. I tear into the bathroom to see the Tampax box overturned, tampons everywhere, Bob's two feet and a black tail sticking out from under the sink. Donovan is having a conversation with Bob underneath the sink. Although he's probably not aware of it, Bob is talking back to Donny. Meanwhile, Gizmo is patiently untying one of Bob's shoelaces.
Buster has dropped his favorite felt toy at Bob's feet. "Do you wanna play fetch", he asks. Bob doesn't respond, so instead Buster plays the stuff-the-toy-under-his-heels, go-around-the-other-side-pull-it-out game. Bob is going to go home with catnip scented socks. I pick up the spewed Tampax and hastily throw it in the bedroom. I try to pull Donny out. Stop bugging him and let the man do his job, I tell him. Tally immediately fills the void. I pull Tally out and Kenya has managed to squirm herself in underneath Bob's outstretched arm. I guess he's ticklish. I hear him yelp and then bump his arm as he tried to protect his exposed ribs. I'm so sorry, I tell him as I pull Kenya out. The cats are going in faster than I can extricate them and I don't have enough arms and legs to block off their access to the poor plumber. I know they are doing this deliberately. They want to give those dogs something to think about. Boots is watching all this from his toilet seat throne like the Cheshire cat watching the Queen's croquet game, and Bob is the hedgehog stuck in the wicket.
Suddenly I hear the death knell scratch of cat litter, and my heart sinks as I realize someone has chosen the litterbox in the bathroom to use. Oh my Gawd. It's Buster, and he had Ocean Whitefish for breakfast. I reach for the air spray and I'm spritzing like crazy. Bob comes out from under the sink. I notice that his eyes are watering. That pipe is really tight, he wheezes, and pulls out a huge wrench from his toolbox. Zeke overcomes his timidity and comes bolting down the hallway. This is the biggest can opener he's ever seen.
Bob completes the repair, brushes off cats in every direction and emerges from underneath the sink, tripping over his untied shoelace, which he can't see for the tears in his eyes. Guess he won't be able to see all the tabby fur on his dark uniform shirt either.
We settle the bill amidst a sea of waving tails and leg rubs. There is enough cat fur on the cuffs of Bob's trousers to make another cat. I hope these dogs are well fed by the time he gets home. Bye boys, Bob calls out as he leaves the house. "Byyyeeee" they all politely chorus back.
I notice that Bob doesn't leave a card or sticker with his company's name and phone number for future reference.
That must be why I can never remember who was here before. They don't want me to.
Sigh.
4/99
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It was Kenya who noticed it first.
