The Ruby Rose Report: The Great Grape Flood

 

 I was chewing a marrow bone on my blanket when the incident occurred.

It was a typical Friday night at our house. Mommy was making supper, Daddy was due home from work, and neither knew what would happen.

There was a massive explosion in the kitchen.

Mommy began to use words so bad that they were banned on HBO.

I left my blanket and trotted into the kitchen. It looked like an Ooopa Lompa convention had been slaughtered by an exasperated, nearly bankrupt Slugworth. Grape juice was everywhere, and on the sloped section of the floor, it was rushing toward the oven like the Johnstown Flood.

“Don’t step in it!” Mommy warned me, which I wasn’t planning on doing. I didn’t want Evil Grimace juice on my paws.

“Daddy didn’t put the cap on tightly,” Mommy said. I never thought of him as an accomplished man, but if my Dad can knock grape juice off a shelf, then kudos.

“Momma!’ I barked. “You need to the big roll of Bounty before the purple river gets under the stove. Uh-oh, never mind.”

My Mom is not like those people in the Bounty Commercials who can wipe up a spill because they hide a roll up their ass. Unfortunately, my Mommy doesn’t have room up there for towels, so she keeps them on the counter, and by the time she got to the disaster area, a small Korean fishing village had sprung up around them.

Mommy must have decided and tried to change the juice into wine because she said a mixture of Bible words, HBO words, and speaking in tongues. The grape juice river kept rolling along.

Mommy has arthritis and walks with a visible limp, but Lord, you should see her move when there is a spill on the floor.

She came out firing, with a spray bottle in one hand, a mop in the other, and holding an unopened paper towel roll in her mouth like a hand grenade about to be thrown.

She got down and worked like the pit crew at Daytona in the last lap of the 500. She kept telling me to stay, which was not a problem because I was not going to try to breach the Big Grape River.

She got done and told me not to mention the spillage to Daddy. I didn’t: Not when he got home, not when he gave Mommy a peck on the lips, and not when, after that, he gave me lots of attention because that’s how we roll in my forever home.

Then Daddy noticed more of the juice was gone.

I leaped into my kitty condo before my Mom took the grenade out.