Drink Impediment

It is decided.

As Man Of The House, I must speak to the management about Mummy.

Just this morning I was sitting on the bathroom counter, waiting (patiently, I might add) with Nutmeg for Mummy to finish her morning chores so we could get our drink from the faucet.

Well.

In comes Mummy after much brisk action, wedging her paws between us to turn on the faucet. Naturally, we assume this means we can have a drink so in we dive, tongues hanging out, but no, Mummy must first wash her hands. And that requires soap, which Mummy keeps in a bottle near the sink.

Well.

The bottle was getting a bit low, though it obviously had sufficient of the bubbly stuff to manage a wash or two, yet Mummy, being of the Paranoid-About-Running-Out-Of-Something variety, decided to retreat to the linen closet and fetch a new bottle of soap. So we sat back and waited. Again.

Well.

That is okay, I s’pose, except when she returned, she set the new bottle right next to me, continuing her wash up and preparing to dish out drinks.

Only I could not drink.

You see, there was this bottle, and it was on my side of the sink. And it was in my way.

I gave it a look.

I gave Mummy a look.

She gave me a look, then asked if I wasn’t going to drink.

I said, How can I drink with this bottle standing here?

I am trying to sit here next to the sink, and this bottle is right where I need to be.

And it has a dastardly look about it, if you ask me.

Only she didn’t ask me.

She gave Nutmeg a drink while I fidgeted and turned around and glowered at the soap. Then she shut off the life-saving tap and absolutely walked away.

And I did not get my drink.

If Dad was here, he would never allow soap bottles to loiter about the place like so many cats. And he most certainly would have given me my drink.

I think I am going to faint.