Let's Bake Some Cookies

Finally, a quiet evening. Dobby snuggles down into his favorite living room chair. He purrs to himself gently as the murmurings of the television lull him to sleep. Mom walks through the living room quickly, disturbing the quiet of the room. I know that walk. She's on a mission. Mom comes back through the room wearing an apron. He opens one eye and glares.

Mom senses the movement and looking at the orange tabby says, “It's chilly tonight and I'm kind of bored. I think I'll bake some cookies.”

I just got that dragon calmed back down. Now she thinks she's making cookies. Uh uh. No way. 

 “Cookies? No Mom. You don't really want cookies do you?”

“Yep. I sure do. I think the smell of fresh cookies will be just the thing to take the chill out of such a cool night.”

“It's going to be a mess. You hate doing dishes.” Dobby reminds her.

“It's not even eight o'clock. It never takes long to clean up.”

“You look so nice, these days. Do you really want to risk putting on weight again?”

Mom looks at Dobby suspiciously but answers anyway. “I'm not going to eat all of them tonight. I'll just mix up a batch of dough; bake one pan of cookies and freeze the rest of the dough. I only eat one or two while the cookies are still hot.   You know I hate it when someone stops by and there aren't any treats around the house.    Besides, I plan on exercising when I get up in the morning.”

“But didn't you come home earlier today with a Mocha Latte in your hand?”

“It was a small one with no whipped cream or anything.” Mom's patience is beginning to wear just a little thin.

“Weren't you just snacking on some chocolate chips?”

“A handful...” Mom's irritation is creeping into her voice.

Dobby thinks for a minute. “What day of the week is this?”

“Saturday.” Mom answers.

“Don't you have to be up early tomorrow?”

“Look. Cat. I'm bored. I want something to do. There are no cookies in the house. We need some. Unless there is an incredibly attractive man standing on the other side of the front door waiting to hang on my every word, I'm going into the kitchen and baking cookies. Capish?”

Dobby looks up at Mom knowing she means business and not to push her any further. He holds out his front leg, gesturing her to go ahead into the kitchen. Dobby follows closely. What can he do now? He contemplates weaving through her feet but knows she might just push him out of the way with her foot (note to PETA—with complete gentility and love of course). Come on, Dobby, you're the cat. Think of something. Anything. This is an emergency. Dobby never thought he would have to do something like this but...Mom needs more time to finish the other two stories. Dobby quickly glides into the kitchen between her feet, stopping directly in front of Mom, hunches down close to floor and empties his belly in the most gruesomely loud way possible.

The anger immediately leaves Mom's face. “Is my sweet kitty feeling sick? It's okay baby. Just cough it up. Mommy will clean it. Good boy. There you go.” Mom reaches out to reassure Dobby that she's not mad. Quick what did I used to do? Hide! Hide and cough. Dobby runs into the bedroom and under the bed pretending to fear anger from Mom. He can hear Mom get some paper towels off the roll and clean up the mess he left on the floor.

“See, it's all clean. You're not in trouble baby.” Mom calls out with reassurance.

“Cough...Cough”

Mom pokes her head under the bed skirt from the side opposite so she can see Dobby's face. “It's okay kitty. Mom's not mad. I'm going to put my apron away and turn everything off in the kitchen. How about if Mom sits in here with you and reads until you feel better?”

“Cough.....Cough.”

Mom leaves and Dobby watches from underneath the bed skirt as Mom moves around the kitchen putting things away and turning out the light. He coughs periodically to remind her he is in dire straights. Mom goes into the bathroom, toothbrush buzzes, a few minutes later water runs. After the water stops running, the door opens and Mom turns off the bathroom light.

“Cough, cough...COUGH”

“It's okay sweetie. Mom is coming.”

Dobby feels the clearance above his head shorten a little as Mom's comforting weight settles on to the mattress above. Crisis averted. The room quiets around him as Dobby finally relaxes again. Eventually, the lights go out gently purring himself to sleep the cat realizes he can't keep doing this indefinitely. Next time I'll just let her bake the damn cookies.

Dobby wakes to hear a noise on the steps coming from the basement into the kitchen. Tiptoeing along the kitchen floor. Quickly headed this way. Quick! Hide! Under the bed! Crap! I am under the bed. Dylan's voice can be heard in the doorway of the bedroom. “Furnatche. Furnatche, where are you?” Dobby opens one eye just as the toddler's face appears from under the bed skirt. “There you are kitty.”