Years later she would drive her parent's brown Buick sedan up 36th Ave. to my house, making S curves from curb to curb while adopting a stoic expression, yet leaning into the turns.
Last night Orin jogged through the living room making a little wheezing noise. I assumed cat-asthma or a dust allergy until I noticed he had something in his mouth. He set it on a JC Penney's box leftover from last weekend's late Christmas. He picked it up and trotted out of the room and went off to who-knows-where just as I was placing the object: The clear flexible plastic cover that keeps me from clogging the upstairs shower drain with my hair.
I laughed out loud and thought: "That cat should consider standup comedy."
Then I realized we were probably never going to see that drain cover ever again. Orin knows every cranny of the house and usually wanders around with fur covered in sawdust and asbestos to prove it. I made a mental note to pick up a new one and not to be surprised when I found it in three years next to the pile of microwaves in the storage area.
Except. This is Orin. And he's a genius.
Chuck texted me this afternoon:
"Well, Orin returned the drain thing to the bathroom so today is full of good news," he said.
"He did?! Oh. My. God. I'm dying!" I wrote back.
"I guess he was done with it," Chuck replied.