Kettle #2 is Missing

Kettle #2 used to gleam under the flourescent lights, shiny and new, brilliance reflecting off its glossy white body. Tall and sleek. One-point-seven litre capacity, enough to boil tea-time water for an entire clique of office workers passing through the kitchenette on their break. Useful features like a power switch and automatic shut-off. A transparent window down one side through which it was possible to gauge the water level. Kettle #2 had it all. Kettle #2 was made by the Sunbeam corporation. Kettle #2 was number one, and everybody knew it. My own name is a joke, a coincidence of seniority.

I wasn't always Kettle #1. My predecessor - may it rest in peace - had that honour before me, back when I was called Kettle #2. The previous Kettle #1 died in a hail of yellow sparks and blue arcs of electricity, causing quite a stir. Blew a breaker, as I recall. Then I became the one and only kettle for a time, and stood alone upon this speckled countertop. Those were the days. It felt good to be wanted, needed, unique, useful. My three-prong grounded power cable made people feel safe, less likely to be electrocuted by me than by my predecessor, also known as Old Sparky.

I must confess that when Kettle #2 came along, I didn't warm to it right away. I didn't see the need for it. I was in perfectly good working order, thank you very much, and I never heard anybody complain about my performance. Rarely, if ever, were we two kettles used simultaneously - I mean, who needs that much boiling water all at once? So why, then? Why? I ask you: why the need for two kettles?

Sure, I'm short and a bit on the round side. And, okay, my power cord is a bit frayed where it connects to my rump - but not dangerously so. So what if I don't have a power switch? What's so difficult about simply pulling the plug? And who needs a see-through water-level window when you can just pick me up and judge my fullness by weight?

Some people appreciate simplicity and clean design. Some people don't care about name brands, or whether your only identifying marks are a cryptic series of letters and numbers molded into your underside. There are people who don't mind a bit of grime on a handle, or hot water that comes out tasting just a little bit seasoned. Half a litre ought to be enough for anybody.

***

A concerned citizen used a magnet to hang a sign on Fridge, and it reads like this:

Who Borrowed Kettle # 2?

Next time please leave a note telling the others who use it

-who you are

And

-when you're returning it

Thanks!

In pen and at a forty-five degree angle, slanting up beneath the question mark at the end of the first line, some wag has scribbled:

KETTLE RUSTLERS?

Clever. I chuckle every time I think of it. I shouldn't laugh, though. Poor old Kettle #2 has gone missing, and the humans are distraught.

***

The fact is that you can't share a workspace with somebody for very long without getting to know them and learning to like them. Kettle #2 had every reason to be smug and arrogant, but if ever it felt superior to me it did not show it. Instead it stood tall and proud by my side, chummy despite our differences, never embarassed to be seen with its short, rotund colleague. Its cheerful demeanour was infectious. I'll never forget the way it liked to whistle while it worked. I was reminded of what simple joy there is to be had in the exercise of one's innate abilities. I joined in the song with a voice I hadn't used in years.

Fridge is decent company, though it snores an awful lot. Microwave just sits there most of the time, dumb and quiet, occasionally making its shrill, irritating beeping noises. Kettle #2 was the sort of friend some people seek for their entire lives, usually without success. Kettle #2 knew the pain of calcium and lime deposits, and the importance of being left in peace during the uncomfortable cool-down period after use. Kettle #2 understood me. We were two of a kind. We kept each other company during the long, dark, often creepy nights in the empty office. There are strange noises here in the dark hours before morning. Creaking, cracking, creeping movement of things meant to remain still.

Some humans like old, familiar, predictable things, but most are drawn toward the shiny and new. I tried not to let it bother me when hand after hand reached for Kettle #2 and left me gathering dust - I don't want to be petty or jealous - but it's important to feel wanted, needed, an applied appliance. Eventually the day came when I could no longer remember the last time I'd brought water to a boil. Me, Kettle #1, playing second fiddle. I couldn't decide whether to feel sad or steaming mad, until I overheard a conversation which settled the matter for me.

"Maybe we should just throw it out. I don't think anyone uses it anymore."

"Yeah, the new one's much better."

"Ugh, the garbage is full. Maybe tomorrow."

There was little doubt as to who they were talking about. Thankfully they forgot this conversation. The next day came and went without incident, but I knew my time was running out. I felt nervous, nearly boiling over with tension. I had to act. It was a matter of self-preservation.

***

They call us "inanimate objects", but that's just stupid. Everything moves, even if only at a microscopic level, little bits and pieces vibrating about, ready to fly apart, barely held together by molecular bonds. With concentration, that movement can be harnessed, directed, used for locomotion. Fridge could do it, if it wanted to. Hell, even Microwave could probably swing it. I've known the trick for decades, having discovered it in my desperate panic to get away from Old Sparky during its chaotic final moments.

"What are you doing?" Kettle #2 asked me.

"Oh, nothing." I said.

"Are you moving? How are you doing that?" Kettle #2 asked.

"Hmm? No, don't be silly. Kettles can't move." I said.

"Hey! Stop that!" It cried.

It pushed back, learning the trick too late to make any difference. It teetered on the edge of the countertop. I gave one final shove.

***

Somebody has added a sticky note to the bottom right corner of the sign affixed to Fridge:

PLEASE BRING BACK OUR KETTLE! :)

I'm not sure what all the fuss is about. I'm right here, warm, happy, and singing the song of my people. Perfectly functional and at their disposal. I am Kettle #1, but you might as well just call me The Kettle.

Kettle #2 isn't missing - not really. It's in a safe place, and it's going to stay there for a long, long time. In all my years in this kitchenette, I've never seen anybody clean behind Fridge.