I’m not sure exactly which year it happened; it must have
been either 1989 or 1990. It was a busy morning, with two kids who had to get
to school on time, and two preschoolers devoted to preventing all things from happening
on time. I’d been doing laundry since before any of them were awake, and there
was an essential item sopping wet in the washer – a favorite T-shirt, the “lucky”
underwear, or the soccer socks with the two blue stripes. I’ve forgotten what “it”
was, but I fished it out of the washer and added it to the nearly-dry clothes
in the dryer. I closed the dryer door and turned it back on. The drum rotated
twice, making a noise like gym sneakers. Only I wasn’t drying sneakers. I
opened the door, and our deeply offended Persian cat jumped out. He wasn’t
hurt, but I never recovered. I still can’t use a dryer without checking for
cats.
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