Deborah Steinberg: Twist-Tie

Deborah Steinberg

A Bee in a Stone Mountain

Deborah Steinberg: Twist-Tie

Twist-Tie

Among the many things that Milo really shouldn't play with (namely our pens, pencils, freshly-laundered socks, napkins, toilet paper, computer, flowers, hair scrunchies and wrappers), he enjoys chasing after twist-ties. All over the apartment.

Twist-ties are among Milo's favorite items in the world. He prefers them over catnip toys, speedily sliding along our hardwood floors, from one end of our place to the other, whenever he befriends one. So talented are his unique spins and tumbles and dives and steps that he resembles a furry, dancing superhero... in a suit.

The problem? On occasion, the unsuspecting Tuxedo slams right into a wall, a door, our dresser, the edge of our couch, our desk, our tables, our bed, our bookcase, a chair leg, a cabinet, the toilet, etc., in non-superhero style.

Like magic, however, Milo makes this violent, feline sport seem a lot more fun and graceful than painful. With a usual shake of his head, a glaring "what?" from his eyes, and a stately walk away from a near-death scene, he consistently reminds us that he's okay. That absolutely nothing of interest has occurred,.. and that he didn't just almost suffer the loss of an eye.

Again.

I woke Milo up from a sound sleep, this afternoon, to bestow him with good news: the presence of a brand-new, shiny, black twist-tie. I placed it before his nose so that he could sniffily ensure that it was, indeed, a twist-tie. And then I left him alone to his business.

In a matter of seconds, the twisty-tie was pawed to its tragic fall onto the carpet below.

Whatever made him happy...