Tuesday, 20 July 2010
I have a great love of the Sabatier knife, especially my 14 inch carving knife which is about as sharp as the rugby ball currently wedging Ben's bedroom door open. I have to admit to cursing said French knife makers for not allowing enough breaking strain to be factored into said carving knife which was at that moment in time wedged underneath Ben's bedroom door in a forlorn attempt to retrieve my suit.
Surely I thought, as I looked in horror at the one inch blade attached to the handle after a dull metallic thud gave first warning that thirteen inches would remain under the door until another ingenious method of door opening was identified, surely someone in Thiers (where they make the knives) would have thought that one day their handiwork would be used for something other than carving meat. Head pressed against the rugby ball and pondering further usage of broken knife I recollected how I came to be in such a horrible situation.
Cats were the cause of the days misfortune and the sole reason why I could not get my suit. The only suit. The suit was required as I had a meeting with a small god of social work. For this meeting I needed two things.
A good nights sleep and a suit.
Living in the country I should expect a good nights sleep, its so peaceful.
Not so dear reader.
Not when you have a Bernese Mountain Dog bitch in season and a Bernese Mountain Dog thwarted in his attempts to get to her. So as to prevent any unwanted pregnancy Rocky was banished to the cells, or the stables. Unfortunately this gives his serenading a certain acoustic quality and so frequently through the night we could hear what sounded like a werewolf howling whilst his claws were trimmed with a blunt pair of silver scissors a cathedral. I did go out an remonstrate with the beast at midnight but he thought I wanted to play ball and totally missed the fact he was in trouble.
He kept his serenading up until 4am. It so aided restful sleep.
Then the cat took over.
Cat had got itself shut in Ben's room after a hard days sleeping it decided the best place to be wasn't sleeping in Ben's room and in a frantic effort to escape pulled back the carpet behind the door which totally prevented it opening.
I did try, but at 4am my efforts only resulted in a three inch wide gap. Cat resolutely refused to move, perhaps the vision of me crouched the other side of the door in my boxers was a bit off putting but he made no attempt to leave and just sat and watched my frantic efforts to get the door open with some interest over the back of an already over washed front paw. Knowing that if left he would continue with his noisy attempt to burrow under the door I managed to reach inside, get hold of the ball and wedge it open.
Fast forward to late morning, the realisation that my suit was hung in Ben's wardrobe and so breaking the knife trying to force the door over the piled up carpet now makes complete sense.
In a moment of inspiration I managed to reach through the door and into the wardrobe (small rooms do have a certain advantage at times like this) and after several botched handfuls of clothing, old school uniforms and so on, I salvaged the day by pulling through the slowly closing door ( the ball was deflating) my precious suit and had a very interesting meeting with said small god.
Any ideas on how to get the door open without sacrificing door or cat would be gratefully received. Actually any ideas on sacrificing cats would be equally gratefully received.
Posted by Tony at 21:11