Sometimes, Thinking

Sometimes, I wish Warden and Regrette were small dogs. Dogs I could scoop up into my arms. Dogs a woman could put into a purse. But they aren't. They're large dogs. Large, loud dogs. Dogs that sit with me on the couch, squashing me. Dogs that leave puddles of drool on the kitchen floor. Dogs that destroy.

But I love them, nonetheless.

Sometimes, I think how nice it would be nice to be scooped up into someone's arms. To be put into a purse. To be so small, and loved because I was so small.

Sometimes, when I think things like this, about Warden and Regrette's size and how nice it would be to be small, I know I need to go on an adventure.

I think I need to go on an adventure.

Boxes

There were many boxes in the hallway. Boxes labeled Kitchen, Books, Leather, and Random Stuff! I wondered how these boxes ended up in the hallway. The boxes had to come up a flight of steps. The boxes had to be set down and rearranged. But I didn't hear a single noise. Then, I wondered if the boxes had come in the middle of the night. Finally, I wondered who owned all the boxes in the hallway.

I left my apartment door open so that if someone came up the steps and picked up a box, I could say, "Hello, how do you do? I'm Curt G. Jimenez. Nice to meet you." I left my apartment door open so that I could say, "Do you need any help?" I left my apartment door open so that if I saw someone taking a box from the hallway, wearing a mask, I could say, "Stop! That's not your box, is it?"

Regrette and Warden poked their heads into the hallway, but lost interest and tussled in the living room for a bit, before moving into the bedroom. I decided that I would make a butter for whoever owned all the boxes.

A nice, simple butter.

I went to the grocery store and picked up heavy whipping cream and a bunch of chives. I climbed the stairs to the second floor and noticed that many boxes were gone. The door at the end of the hallway clicked shut! I set the heavy whipping cream and chives on my kitchen counter and walked to the door at the end of the hallway. I knocked. No one answered. I knocked again. "Hello," I said. "Hello, I'm Curt G. Jimenez. Your neighbor, I guess." I put my ear against the door and listened. Nothing. "Okay," I said, "Bye."

For fun. Noise. Caution. These were boxes were small cardboard squares. Stacked one on top the other.