Day 13: Is a home really the most dangerous place

Between You, Me and the Lamp Post

Day 13: Is a home really the most dangerous place

From the moment we step outside, we are on guard for potential accidents. Auto collisions, pedestrians getting hit by moving vehicles, potholes, loose stones, stairs, falling objects and more.

Some of these accidents, if severe enough are published in a newspaper, an online site or they are even screened on TV. But what about the accidents that happen at home? They do say that a home is the most dangerous place.

The Living Room

Quite by accident, we found a Chippendale end table. It was a little too big for the intended spot, but the color matched our existing furniture so well that I didn’t hesitate to buy it. 

What a mistake that was. I can’t tell you how many times we stomped a toe against one of its legs or banged a knee on one of the corners. In the end, beautiful as the end table was, it had to go. For its replacement, we bought a round table. It’s small enough not to pose a threat to our toes and its round edges are much kinder to passing knees.

The Bathroom

When Margaret redecorated her bathroom, she went to Home Depot and chose beautiful baby blue glossy tiles for her backsplash and floor. The salesman who helped her mentioned that while this was a great choice for a backsplash, it was far from ideal for a floor. 

Because of the glossy finish, the floor would become extremely slippery when wet. Margaret paid no attention, she loved the baby blue tiles and to hell with the consequences. 

It took exactly four days for Margaret to slip and fall on her baby blue tiles and end up with a navy blue knee. She promptly had the baby blue floor replaced with non-slip rough texture tiles.

The Kitchen

The most dangerous place in any home is the kitchen.

Fed up with a nearly blunt potato knife, Betty made her way to Canadian Tire and picked out a new knife. Come lunchtime, Betty started peeling potatoes and subsequently slicing them in half. 

Unfortunately, Betty (used to putting effort in slicing a potato) put too much oomph in her action slicing not only the potato but a section of her hand between her thumb and index finger. Eighteen stitches later Betty came home and threw the new knife in the trash. She told me that the attending doctor had quite a laugh when she told him what had happened.

A doctor had quite a laugh with me too. Yes, I had an accident in the kitchen too and the culprit was not a slippery floor or a knife, it was a can of pineapple.

A can of pineapple you might wonder. Indeed. Dieter and I had gone grocery shopping and when we came home we started unpacking the bags. Dieter crouched in front of the fridge while I placed items on top of the door. He reached for the items and placed them in the fridge.

Everything went fine until I placed a can of pineapple on the door. The can slipped off the door and landed with its rim on my socked left foot. Jeez Louise, the pain … I can’t begin to tell you how much pain that 500 ml can caused me.

When I was able to move, I hobbled to the lounge where I fell in one of the chairs. When I removed my sock I was greeted by a rather large bump on my left foot …

A few days later, the blood in the bump spread to the rest of my foot and now my foot looked like this …

No bones were broken, but walking was rather uncomfortable. In slippers mind you, because I couldn’t get into any of my shoes.

On the upside, I didn’t need a bone density test because this accident had proven that I have very strong bones.

The Bedroom

Well, we won’t go there but I’m sure quite a few accidents have happened there too. Not in my bedroom, but in general.

"Debbie" - first three pages

Click here to buy on Amazon

It’s Friday and that means you’re getting another installment of “Debbie”.

This time you’re getting page three. Not to worry, for those who came in late, page one and two are included, so nobody is missing out.

Hi there!

My name is Debbie, and I’m a ferret.

You know what a ferret is, right? Have you ever seen a picture of a ferret? Please don’t say that ferrets look like rats. I’m nothing like a rat, and I’ll take it as insult if you compare me to one!

For starters, rats are rodents, while ferrets are more highly evolved in the animal world.

Rats are very active creatures, always scurrying after something.

Ferrets have a much more relaxed lifestyle. We like to take things easy. Did you know that we sleep, on average, 17 to 20 hours a day?

Other than that, rats are not exactly the prettiest animals in the world, are they? But ferrets definitely are. I mean, look at my picture, am I cute or what?

Whenever humans looked at me and my friends, they stopped in their tracks, peered into our cage, and said, “Oh look at these adorable ferrets!” They would comment on our pretty little pink ears, tiny black beady eyes, pert little pink nose and short little legs.

 My fur is a mixture of the same sand color as that of my friends, but with touches of black. I even have a black stripe over my eyes. People would say that I look like a bandit. Hmm … perhaps that would be an appropriate name for me, as ferrets are thieves by nature. Well, not actually thieves, let’s just say that ferrets like to collect things and then hide them!

But that was not the case. As it turned out, when I was adopted, my new owner had a proper name ready for me  He picked me up, held me at eye level and said “Hello cutie, I’m Andrew. What shall I call you?” His eyes squinted a bit and he cocked his head to the side before he suggested, “How about Debbie?”

Fine by me, I liked the name Debbie. Aren’t there movie stars or celebrities named Debbie?

Andrew, a tall human with red hair and green eyes, bought me a handsome metal cage, wood curls to line the bottom, a flowery velvet hammock to sleep in, a bag of dry food pellets especially for ferrets, some toys, and a litter box for ... hmmm, well, you-know-what.

Home was a condo on the 15^th floor. Through the holes in my box, I saw a large sunny room. Keep in mind that, small as I am, everything seemed a bit overwhelming to me.

My cage was placed in one of the rooms, and I saw Andrew taking my food into another room.

And then, gasp! I was taken out of the box.

Whoa, but the place was spacious! Being inside the box didn’t give me a true perspective on the size of the room. Once I was out of it, the room seemed enormous. Scared and intimidated, I cowered low to the ground.

“Welcome to your new home Debbie,” Andrew said, picking me up. “Shall I show you around? This is my bedroom. This is where I sleep at night.”

As Andrew started walking, I got the feeling that I was gliding through the air. He took me from room to room, complete with explanations. Let me see if I remember them all: there was a guest bedroom where visitors slept; a bathroom where Andrew washed himself; a kitchen where meals were prepared and the dishes were washed; and a living room which was, as Andrew said, for hanging out. “And that,” Andrew said, still holding me as we were back in the living room, “is the balcony. Want to see?”

Did I have a choice?

He opened a floor-to-ceiling sliding door and stepped outside.

Good grief! We must have been high up, because I could see for miles and miles!

“We’re on the 15^th floor,” Andrew said, moving closer to the edge of the balcony. “Here, have a look.”

http://connymanero.weebly.com/debbie.html

Every action has a reaction

It’s hard being a cat sometimes, especially if you share a house with other cats.

Even though there are three perfectly good baskets around, whenever there’s a box available Chanel, Mickey, Charlotte and Gabriel will take turns curling up in it.  But sometimes one of them overstays his welcome.  In that case patience goes out the window and it’s time for a little action.

While Gabriel was sleeping in a cardboard box today, Mickey did just that.  He positioned himself close to where Gabriel and looked at him.  Make that, stared at him.  He stared and stared and just when I thought he was about to give up, he stared some more.

Gabriel wasn’t bothered.  Mickey could stare all he wanted, Gabe wasn’t moving.  So what did Mickey do … he bit Gabriel’s leg.  He lowered his head, nuzzled his nose into Gabriel’s long hair, but instead of grooming him, he took a bite.

As planned, this action had a reaction.  Unfortunately Mickey hadn’t thought this one through though.  Yes, Gabriel vacated the box, but Mickey couldn’t immediately take possession of it.  First he had to deal with a mouthful of hair.  That comes of it when you bite a longhaired cat.

Do Mickey and Gabriel fight?  Neih, they’re the best of friends, always have been.

In general it wasn’t Mickey’s day today.  This morning I couldn’t find him.  I wasn’t really worried because I had seen him some five minutes before, so I figured he was probably sleeping somewhere.

While waiting for Mick to resurface I decided to make the beds.  I started with Dieter’s bed, grabbed hold of the duvet and flung it on the floor.  There Mickey was, with some dumb look on his face like “What the hell happened?” 

Did he get up?  If you think he did, you don’t know Mickey very well.  He put his head down and went right back to sleep.  Okay, I would come back later.  Much later.

I moved on to my bed.  Once again I grabbed the duvet and threw it off the bed.  I heard a “clonk”.  That was strange, duvets go down softly, they don’t go clonk.  This time I had interrupted Charlotte’s sleep.  She slunk from under the duvet (that was now in a heap on the floor) clearly not impressed.  She gave me a look that said “What’d do that for?”

This was clearly a no win situation for me.  So I left the beds alone and went to do the dishes instead.  Much safer for everyone.

Accidental or deliberate?

Last night Gabriel joined me in bed, as he does every night.  As usual he wanted to have his head rubbed, his belly tickled and his head rubbed some more. 

Usually he sleeps late (as I do) and we get up together.  Not this morning though.  I woke up from a scratching on the door, followed by “Meow, meow”.

“Ssst,” I shushed sleepy.

This didn’t work, Gabriel cried and kept on crying, he pleas getting louder and louder.

“Gabriel,” I said, “come back to bed and go to sleep.”  In reply he scratched the door some more and let out another couple of “meows”.

“Gaaaaaabriel,” I groaned, “pleeeeease!  It’s too early, come back to bed.”

Gabriel wouldn’t hear of it and meowed more insistent than before.

“GABRIEL!” I yelled, now fully awake.  “What is it with you?  It’s too early."

 
“Meow” he said in response.

I could have just gotten up and let him out of my bedroom, but it’s was so warm in bed and I wasn’t quite ready to leave, even if it was only for a few seconds.

To my relief Gabriel left his spot by the door and jumped on my bed.  He didn’t curl up though, he stepped on the bed’s headboard and sat there.

I turned over, snuggled under the covers and was just about to doze off when something hard landed right snack on my head.   A stone duck was the culprit, knocked down courtesy of Gabriel he couldn’t keep his paws to himself.  He knocked that duck down to get back at me for not letting him out.   

Accidental or deliberate?  One thing is for sure, when he start meowing tomorrow, I’ll open the door, who knows what else he has in mind.

From there on my day didn’t exactly get better. 

While I was working on the computer later on, I suddenly heard a “tonk”, followed by “splat, splat, splat”.  I was still trying to figure out what the strange noise was when I noticed something moving on Dieter’s nigh stand, where he keeps a fish tank.

On the night stand was a tiny fish, flipping and flapping like crazy.  I immediately rushed to the rescue, but picking up a tiny, slippery fish proved more difficult than I expected.  After a couple of futile attempts I resorted to wiping the fish with one hand into my other hand.  Much like one would brush crumbs off a table.

I worked and once I had the fish I deposited him back into the water.  Oh my heart, my poor heart.  Even though I managed to stay calm during a crisis, once it was over I nearly went horizontal.

I had to tell someone, I had to share this near horrible experience.  So I called the owner of the fish, Dieter.  And what did he do when I told him the horrible tale?  Not what I expected.  He wasn’t shocked, he wasn’t worried, he wasn’t even sympathetic, he … burst out laughing.  Thought the whole thing too funny.  He even posted it on Facebook!

First a cat, then a fish … maybe I should stick to a bird or something.

The 'visitor'

It was late, it was raining and I had at least a thirty-five minute drive ahead of me to get home. When my friend Diane offered that I could spend the night in her house, I eagerly accepted.

Diane lived with her mother in a spacious country house. The obviously old furniture in the guestroom was not quite what I had expected in the otherwise modern home.

"It's my grandmother's furniture," Diane explained. "When grandma passed away, my mom decided to keep her stuff for the spare room. The mattress is new though and the sheets are fresh, so you should be quite comfortable."

A few minutes after I had turned out the light I heard the door opening and softly closing. I was about to ask Diane if she had forgotten something when I heard her moving through the room, every so carefully as to not to disturb me.


I heard her by the vanity table, opening and closing drawers.
Not wanting to make Diane feel bad for waking me up, I pretended to be asleep.
But I smiled as I heard her rummaging, apparently she could not find what she was looking for.

Suddenly I felt her sitting down on the bed.  I stiffened as my body tilted towards the extra weight.  Enough was enough. Diane and I were good friends, but we were not THAT close.  So I reached up and switched on the light. There was nobody there.

Had I dreamed this?  Had I fallen asleep while Diane was in my room and had she left unnoticed?

"Did you find what you were looking for last night?" I asked her over breakfast.

"Hu?" Diane said, not understanding.

"Last night," I explained, "you were in my room, going through the drawers of the vanity table. I heard you but I did not want to say anything.  I didn't want you to think you woke me up."

"Girl I was not in your room," she said with a shake of her head. "I fell asleep the moment my head touched the pillow."

When I told her what had happened, Diane and her mother exchanged meaningful glances.  According to their story, last night was not the first time that room had a 'visitor'.

"And you put ME in THAT room!" I cried.

"What other room was I going to put you in?" Diane asked.  "I'm fairly certain you wouldn't want to sleep with me. I snore."

"What about the blue room?" I said. "You could have put me in there."

"Oh oh no," she shook her head, "you definitely do not want to sleep in the blue room.  That room is really creepy.  There is a presence there and the room is always ice cold, winter and summer."

After breakfast we went to the blue room together and I did not even have to go inside to feel that there was something very strange there.

As Diane told me, she and her friends had performed a spell in that room when they were kids, and after that the house was never the same again.

Needless to say that I never spent the night at Diane's again.