“Wait a minute.” I lean in and get a whiff and, yep.
Oh, no.
I wash my foot off and start turning on lights as I head to the kitchen, keeping an eye on the floor as I do.
When I reach the kitchen, there’s Jester, rolling around in the middle of the floor.
Covered in peanut butter, as is my kitchen floor. Next to him is the container of peanut butter, the lid next to it and chewed. How he got it off, I have no idea. Now I see the tracks leading to the stairs, out to the living room
“DESIDERIO ARMAND KEISER!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
Upstairs, I hear him jump out of bed and hit the floor running, heading for the stairs. “Tommy? What—EW!”
I stand there, waiting while he hops down the stairs on one foot and over to the kitchen door. “What’s—oh,crap.”
“Yeah.” I point. “Why is my cat Jackson Pollocking my house with Jif?”
“Um…” He swallows hard. “Because I’m an idiot?”
“Ding ding ding!” I glare at him. “Guess what you’re spending the day doing? I suggest starting with bathing him in the laundry sink in the utility room, and then locking him in there with his litter pan so you can clean everything else up. You’d better hope he didn’t get it all over the couch or area rugs or any other furniture. Otherwise, you’re renting an upholstery cleaner, too.” I turn. “Good luck with that.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to get a shower, get dressed, grab something to-go from Alacea’s, and go to work. Don’t forget to check the extra bedrooms for peanut butter.”
“But I can make you breakfast, and—”
“No, you can’t.” I wave at my kitchen floor. It’s covered in peanut butter and cat hair and a writhing cat who’s apparently all too pleased with himself. “I’m not waiting around while you clean it up. And if he starts yakking, call the vet and get him in there.”
I detour through the living room and it looks like Jester stayed out of there. There’s a trail of peanut butter up to the top of the stairs and back down again, though.
I’m already in the shower when the laughter hits me. The sight of Jester rolling around on the floor…
Poor Desi.
I yank that thought out at the roots. Poor Desi, nothing. The pantry door was closed. Desi didn’t give me details, but from his answer, I suspect he gave Jester the jar to play with at some point overnight.
Usually when Jester tries a midnight peanut butter pantry raid, I just squirt him with the spray bottle of water I keep on the kitchen counter by the doorway. That always deters him for the rest of the night.
I’m still snickering as I head downstairs. From the utility room, I hear a battle royal between Desi and my now-howling cat, who haaaates baths. It literally sounds like Jester’s being strangled or skinned to death, which is normal for him during a bath.
Talk about a fricking drama queen.
“Dang it, Jester! What the heck has gotten into you?”
“He hates baths,” I call out. “Hold on tight to his scruff and soap him up good, because you’ll only get the one chance. Love you!”
“Love you—OW,dangit, Jester!”
Snickering, I take a few pictures of my kitchen before letting myself out and heading to work.
* * * *
When Desi finally arrives a little after ten, he’s dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved pullover, and his arms are covered in scratches.
I can’t help it—I start laughing.
After he stows his laptop case and other things in his new office, he walks into mine, where he sighs and drops into one of the chairs in front of my desk. “I deserve that.”
