The Time-Out Box

Day 304: The sound of silence was deafening. I laid my book down and walked over to the kitchen door. "Off," I said. He was on the table and he knew he wasn't supposed to be there, because he got down immediately. I went back to reading. A few minutes later (less than a full paragraph), I heard a rattle of metal on porcelain. I put the book aside again, grabbed the spray bottle in passing. "Off!" I said, somewhat more emphatically, and reinforced it with a well-directed stream at the bottom which was just visible above the rim of the kitchen sink. It took another squirt to make my point, but he jumped out and to the floor. Once again, I picked up my book. I'm a fast reader, but I hadn't gotten through a sentence before another familiar sound got my attention. The spray bottle was right at hand. "OFF!" I said, and nailed him three times before he jumped down from the washing machine. He followed me into the living room and flopped on the floor to lick himself dry. Half a page later, he jumped up on the harpsichord, a serious no-no. "OFF!!!" I said. "OFF! OFF! OFF! You know you're not supposed to be up there!" He made himself flat as a sheet of typing paper in the hopes of becoming invisible. I gave him a firm shove, and he leapt across to his kitty perch. He didn't stay long, and although I thought he'd gone back out into the kitchen, the next noises came from the bedroom: the sound of picture frames being tipped over on the dresser. He tried to dart under the bed to escape, but I was quicker. "That's it. You've pushed one button too many, buster. You're going in the Time-Out Box until you promise to be good." Ten minutes later, I let him out, and before I could sit down with my book again, he'd occupied my chair and was already almost asleep. It takes a lot of patience to raise a kitten.