There are moments in life when the stars seem to align and angels light your day with joyous odes and rainbows; sweet, pure moments of perfection when everything is in harmony. Then there the moments where it seemed that every gremlin trickster in fairydom has teamed up with Murphy’s Law and they’re out to get you. This weekend my life was enriched with one of the latter experiences.

Follow up:

It all started off well enough. A few emails, some writing, the sun shining and a chicken roasting in the oven so that I could make stock from it later in the day. The laundry was on, my cat was a purring bundle of contentment, and I was at peace.

Then I looked at the date and realized I had a new couch and wing chair arriving in a few days and I still hadn’t moved my old couch. “Hmm” I mused to myself. This was a problem. Full of ambition and sunshine, I began moving my couch myself, alone. For reference, I’m 5’3 feet tall and though I’m no weakling, I do not often wrestle couches through doorframes for fun. This was not likely the best idea I had ever had, but once I started, I was determined to finish the job. I got the 8 foot couch down the hall without too much trouble, and tried to get it on end. About half way through this maneuver, the couch shifted. That was the moment I noticed my cat was supervising. More to the point, she was seated on the partially upturned arm of the couch, watching me with fascination as I tried to wrestle the upholstered beast into place. I shooed her off, and she instead tried to climb the back of the couch, now on a significant incline. I’m sure she just wanted a better view of what was happening, but I had visions of me dropping the couch and crushing my pet, so she was removed.

Finally, I got the couch on end just as I realize that my laundry is done and I need to get it out of the dryer. I had this all timed so that just a few minutes after laundry, the chicken would be done too. This timing would prove to be a key element in the chaos that was to come. As would the couch. The couch that was currently upended and blocking the hallway to the door of my condo. Guess which side of the door I was on? You guessed it. In my efforts to wrangle the couch into place, I had managed to blockade myself in. Cursing myself for several kinds of fool, I managed to do an intimate waltz that pressed myself between wall and cushions and spin us both around so that I was on the correct side. Laundry basket in hand, I zipped out for “just a moment” to fetch my laundry from the building dryer. In that moment, the gremlins struck.

Upon exiting the elevator I could hear pandemonium had been unleashed in my absence. The sound of a fire alarm was an assault on my ears as I swore and dashed for my door. There was no doubt in my mind that it would be my suite, because despite such brilliant theorems as Schrodinger’s Cat, I knew without even opening the fire door to my section of hallway and observing the situation that it could only be mine. I just have that kind of luck. The laundry got tossed into the hall and I flew towards the kitchen, only to be met once more by my blue upholstered nemesis, the couch. Despite its attempts to stop me, I managed to once again wiggle and fight past it and ran for the kitchen to turn off the stove and open windows etc, all while the alarm sounded its painfully pitched shrieks. There wasn’t even any smoke, just a little more heat than my fan could keep up with and enough to set off the world’s most sensitive fire alarm. Looking like I had been dragged through a hedge backward and with enough adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream to make an rhino peppy, I managed to get the alarm silenced and rescued my chicken from the oven. (I am happy to report it was fine and the stock was delicious)

That’s when the phone rang. Call display told me my day had just gotten worse, for behold the name I read belonged to the Strata council president (and my across the hall neighbour). “Are you alright? I called once already and you didn’t answer, I was afraid something had happened.” Feeling like a twit to the third power, I explained in brief what had happened and thanked her for her concern. That’s when I noticed my cat was missing. Once again I had to get past my couch and started checking for the missing feline, finally finding her under the bed looking deeply traumatized. It appears that she climbed the couch again while I was gone, putting her delicate ears within a foot of the fire alarm at the moment it went off. How do I know this? The gouges I found on the couch this morning when it occurred to me to look. She must have launched herself off of there like the demons of hell were coming at her if the damage is any indication.

Channeling the adrenaline still pumping through my system, I finally managed to get the couch through the too narrow doorway and into its new home with a minimal number of curses, torn fingernails and a huge sense of accomplishment when it was done.

My cat finally came out from under the bed, the laundry got put away and if I ever find the gremlins involved in that little caper, I will string them up by their tiny feet and subject them to hours of fire alarms and being squished under couch cushions in revenge.