-a moment in the life of a Maytag-

Monday evening Roger was fixing a washing machine (If you’re a Bethel Camp junkie, it’s the washer in Briarhopper – on the landing above the dining hall.) He was ready to screw the front panel back on, but he couldn’t find the screws. So he set the panel to the side, stepped outside and asked Loma if she knew where they were. She told him where to find them, they talked a few minutes; then he got the screws, came back in and screwed the front panel on the washer. End of story. …or so he thought.

Sometime on Tuesday, Samuel asked Roger, ” Did you leave something in the washer last night?”

Roger said, “No. I fixed the washer last night, but I didn’t wash any clothes.”

Samuel said, “This morning I started putting my clothes in the washer and I heard a meow.”

While Roger stepped out to find the screws, the black cat stepped into the cavity of the washer. Roger didn’t see or hear anything; he didn’t have any reason to check for a cat inside. So he screwed the panel back on. There’s no way in or out of the bottom part of the washer – except by removing the front panel of the washer. I’d feel bad about the cat being trapped in there all night, but I don’t think it was psychologically damaged. Make a stupid decision; expect distressing results.

I’m just glad Samuel didn’t start the washer first.

ps – That same cat scared me this morning at 5:30. I was sleeping hard when a scratching sound on the floor woke me up. My single coherent thought was “Mouse!” I turned on the lamp (never mind that I’m half blind without my glasses and probably wouldn’t have even seen a mouse on the brown carpet anyway) and almost fell out of the bed when I saw that black cat sitting calmly beside my closet, scratching its claws on the carpet. Roger says I yelled, “Cat! That cat’s in here!” then turned the light off and went right back to sleep.

Maybe it was psychologically damaged after all. Before it entered our bedroom, it raided the cat food bag… and then, possibly as retribution for our earlier neglect, it left an “excessively” large gift at our closet door.

Sneaky little booger.


About ruthie.voth

Wife of one, mother of four, friend of many. Lover of details, color, good conversations, finding balance, and being honest. Passionate lover of a well-crafted sentence - even more so if it's witty. Weird blend of cynical optimist. I'm the worst kind of woman. I'm high maintenance, but I think I'm low maintenance. Somehow, people still love me. Must be grace.
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