|fire - I'll take you to ****
||[28 Nov 2013|11:39pm]
||really not doing it on purpose
Last night, the cats saved our lives. I think. It's so unreal and banal, but then so did it feel when the flames really broke out and grew higher and higher, that first time. It feels more unreal because in the last week I've turned on the wrong hot plate so many times and singed and melted boxes and what-not. I know how dangerous it is to even heat one plate on the papergreasegluemountains in my kitchen.
So I'm posting this here for myself. My cats are crap smoke alarms; even during the day when I knew I had something on the stove, they didn't alert me, ever. If the frying hot candle wax hadn't sizzled and if I hadn't happened to watch the cats at that very moment as they twitched their ears, twice in a row, it would have burned through the enamel pan in the end? Years ago I was still cooking and busy on LJ, now it's really just idiocy.
So I feel thrice-as-bad for having succumbed to thirst and gingerly opened my water bottle. Despite knowing it, they both fled off my lap.
(Maybe having dropped a full cup of tea on the floor from our chair here two days in a row made them jitter. They also don't even try out their new most expensive drinking fountain.)