Thebe and The Angry Red Eye

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I found a spot on the faucet. Just a small irregular white shape, not uncommon to most water based conveniences. Still it upset my perfect bathroom. I have to be careful when removing it. Scrape it off with the edge of my claw and not the tip. If I should scratch the faucet that would be a much harder imperfection to repair.


It takes surprisingly little to cajole the obscene spot into going away, and once it is gone, my bathroom is perfect again. I can now return to grooming my tail. Cleanliness is important to someone in the situation I am in.


My whiskers have grown a bit long. Its been a week or two since they were trimmed, no need to put it off further. Carefully, so as not to make a mess, I take the paper towel that holds all my previous whisker clippings from behind the mirror and unwrap them on the counter. Holding them between thumb and finger in one hand and clipping them cleanly with the other, I neatly trim them down to the appropriate length before carefully placing them on the paper towel with the others. I wince slightly with each trim, but when the job is done I fold the whiskers inside the paper towel and replace them behind the mirror.


The last thing I do inside my bathroom is inspect for untidiness. I need to use the toilet, but I’m sure if I eat a little less I can hold it in for another few days. I spot a few hairs of fur on the seat and conclude the entire room will need to be scrubbed from top to bottom. As I work each collected hair is placed correctly into the fur bag under the sink with the other sheddings. It is important for someone in my situation to keep clean. Besides the point, it’s nice to have one pristine room when the rest of my home is so dirty.


Now that my bathroom has been resterilized, I stand motionless facing the door. I contemplate staying the whole day inside my bathroom. I remind myself that the room is getting dirtier the longer I stay inside it and I step forward.

The electronic eye notices my presence and slides the door to one side in shuttering phases. The motor is giving out and I’ll need to repair it. I don’t know where the parts will come from, but the idea of taking the door down completely and shattering the sanctity of my bathroom is out of the question.

The door struggles but finally manages to close behind me. I am no longer in my clean world, but am in the dirty one once again. What lights remained, struggled to come alive and most flickered rather than stay stagnant. One blinked on and off a few times before finally giving up the ghost and let itself fade into darkness forever. The ill working lights were represented by broken shards of glass, scattered on the floor.

Chairs on their sides with pictures and board games littered one corner, an overturned table and an unfinished jigsaw puzzle dirtied another. I could see into the next room through the familiar hole in the wall where the light panel had blown out. And no surprise, six of the seven bunks were still unmade and disheveled. And, of course, on one counter sat Oscar, quietly keeping watch.

I must make a mental note that the bedroom will once again require dusting, but no more than that. Most of what was in this room didn't belong to me, and it therefore wasn't my place to touch the personal effects of others.

The bedroom connected to the control room and as I switch rooms  I suddenly realize that the parts for the bathroom door could come from dismantling the door between the bedroom and control room. I almost jump from excitement, but I stifle myself. Don’t jump! Don’t ever jump! Never again!

The control room is far more disastrous than the bedroom. None of the monitors  had glass in them and refused to function, while many of the control panels had shorted out. Exposed wires and conduits hung from the ceiling and crisscrossed through the floor paneling.

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