i crashed at his place one friday night when we were kids, and was the first one up the next day. i was reading a newspaper in the kitchen when rose, a big siamese cat i think, jumped up on the table and started eating a stick of butter that was sitting out on the table (the gerbers were a butter out family)

lick. lick. lick.

a few minutes later, rose jumped off the table and onto the washing machine, and began to vomit up all the butter. it ran down the side of the washing machine.

gurgle, gurgle, horck.

then charlie, a big white lab or maybe something more exotic, came trotting into the kitchen, his giant tail smashing the cabinets.

thump, thump, thump.

charlie found the butter spill and joyfully consumed every drop. the washing machine was totally clean.

slurp. slurp. slurp.

there was no evidence to let anyone know what had happened and i didn’t tell any one for about ten years. it was like my own personal, urban, annie dillard moment.