Once Every 16 Years

For 16 years, ever since I brought him home from the Humane Society when he was two years old, I have avoided tripping over my cat, Herbie. 

Until yesterday. 

I was unloading groceries. When I turned to move some perishables into the refrigerator, I stumbled over his soft, not-so-adorable-at-that-moment form. 

I didn’t fall. Instead, I managed to land most of the perishables safely onto the counter. 

Except for the blueberries. When their little plastic box fell to the floor, it opened, and all the little blue globules flew out. 

Herbie the cat was delighted. Blueberries roll. Everywhere. The magnificent old feline batted them around for a few minutes before ambling off to one of his four favorite napping places. 

Except for the one I stepped on, the blueberries were quite neat and retrievable. And washable. 

And the cat, forgivable, especially when he snuggled, purring, next to me in bed that night. And still forgivable even when I found the small hairball on my bedroom rug this morning. 

Once every 16 years is okay.