You know how some people leave the house and then fret about whether or not they left the stove on? Well, I do the same thing, except my worry is, “OMG, is one of the cats in the dryer?”
I worry about this because once — EXACTLY ONCE* — I left a load of laundry sitting in the dryer with the door open. The clothes were dry, but I was feeling lazy about folding them, and so I just left them there. Hours later, I went to retrieve the laundry and found Isla curled up atop a mountain of clean towels. It was adorable, yet horrifying, and ever since I’ve lived in mortal terror that one of our so-cute-and-so-bad kitties will decide to bed down in the laundry before it’s been dried.
Anyway, then I spend 15-30 minutes arguing with myself:
“No, I’m sure I saw them all this morning. I’m sure of it.”
“Are you *really* sure? Or are you just trying to make yourself feel better?”
“No. No, I’m not sure. OMG, you’re right! One of those little f*ckers probably climbed in the dryer because it was warm and full of clean towels that were only a tiny bit damp! But no, that can’t be! I would have heard ungodly noises coming from inside, right? Right? RIGHT?!”
“I hope you’re right. But for all you know, you’ve just cooked a kitty inside of a clothes dryer. If you’re lucky, maybe they’ll be lenient at your trial for involuntary cat-slaughter.”
“Hey, look on the bright side! At least you didn’t leave the microwave door open…”
In case you haven’t noticed: I have a really mean mind; it’s like a little Gollum in my skull. How did I get so good at tormenting myself? Did I sustain some sort of traumatic brain injury in my youth? Did I absorb my weaker but b!+chier twin in the womb?
Anyway, at this point, I either panic/cry for the rest of the day OR — time permitting — I go back and physically count all the cats, who are invariably NOT being tumble-dried on high heat (cottons) but are instead sprawled out on the bed in subsets of two or three.
Well, except for Fluffy, who’s usually eating something he shouldn’t: