Mishap of the Minis

My cat, Kitten, looked at me like, what in the world?! And I had to agree but I was reserving judgement.

Surely something good would come of this.

We’d both just taken one of the mysterious pills that arrived in the Amazon box the day before. Kitten took one because I put it in her food because the bottle said, “For Feline Health”. I, on the other hand, mistook one for my allergy pill. This was ironic because upon ingesting, we both began to sneeze violently. Now, I’m not a pharmacist, but we also began to shrink.

It was hard to believe—I could not believe—but we were now the size of Beanie Babies. If you think this is tragic, how do you think I felt? I will tell you. Like wool in a dryer.

This misfortune meant our size ratio was now leveled, Kitten and me. Any prior hegemony due to physical stature was erased. Whether this was temporary or not, none of this was to my liking.

But we both have grit, which we employed for the first 24 hours of our ordeal; however grit has limits. Going into Day Two, I was starting to hope for a miracle. Otherwise, I almost thought I might sell myself on Craig’s List as a used child’s toy.

Our first big issue arose when we got hungry. Kitten and I stared each other as the pangs of hunger grew.

“Meow,” Kitten said.

“Same,” I answered.

So, we put our bitty heads together and hatched a plan. All we had to do was ascend the kitchen cabinet to the countertop to the basket that housed Kitten’s cat food. We’d drag a can out, open it, and voila, the savory delectable. As for me, two bananas were up there too, so I’d be set for days. Plus maybe a taste of the cat food for protein. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it is what I like to say.

“Kitten,” I instructed, “let me step on your back so I can reach that knob. Once I pull myself up to the drawer, I’ll get in it and pull you up.”

“Meow,” agreed Kitten, and she curled herself into a humpy ball. I stepped on and stretched my arms as far as I could.

“Can you arch your back higher?”

“Meow?”

“Perfect.”

With a few heave-hos we were up onto the counter with the basket, and in time Kitten happily ensconced with her delectable. After she finished and licked her paws clean, the two of us made our way over to the bananas. You would have thought arriving at the top of this mountain would have been the toughest challenge but trying to snap open the top of a banana with Beanie Baby hands is near impossible.

The first thing I learned from this ordeal is how the arbitrary choices we make today might one day save our lives in the highly unlikely event we find ourselves shrunk. I have never loved myself more than when I scanned the countertop in my ravaged hunger and saw the pointy end of a recently sharpened pencil at eye level right next to me.

Stephanie, you beautiful, brilliant, shriveled woman. You always sharpen the pencils.

With Kitten pulling on my back and me pulling on the pencil, we cranked it out of its jar. I took the unwieldy tool and began to impale the banana with great effort until I saw the flesh inside. Sustenance! I bent my head and devoured like there was no tomorrow. I didn’t care that my cat was seeing me eat just like her. At this point, I made no presumptions about things like tomorrows.

I inhaled one end of the banana in bliss until suddenly we heard two raucous voices approach. My head shot up from the huge food. Because the voices were ricocheting inside my tiny ears, I couldn’t tell who was coming around the corner. I grabbed Kitten by the neck and pulled the two of us behind a bag of chips sitting in the new Covid-post-Covid snack pile that is now a mainstay of my kitchen counter.

First things first. We had to get our bearings straight. I was still in a state of shock over our situation. I didn’t trust anyone or anything except my cat.

Then, I saw who it was: my beloved sons. A tear popped from my small eyes. I started to jump from behind the chips, but Kitten grabbed my arm and stopped me. She put her paw to her lips and nodded toward the boys. I understood. She was right.

First, I’d take this moment to behold my cherished offspring, and then afterwards I’d make my grand, though diminished entrance. When would I get a chance like this again to observe my sons candidly in the wild?

I settled in beside Kitten, and we peeked our two sets of eyes out from the top of the bag. It suddenly occurred to me: we were two miniature Jane Goodalls. I accepted this with reverence and acted the part.

The first thing I noticed about these two creatures was their good nature towards each other. They collaborated quite nicely in securing their food. While one foraged for morsels from the freezer, the other set up a make-shift fire on the stove and got a pan heating. It quickly became clear that this region of the house was their natural habitat. They made exuberant vocalizations as they cooked. Loud, cackling laughter mixed with equally loud expressions of alliance.

I got you, dude.

Here, bro.

I began to take field notes. I used my enormous pencil and carefully wrote as many words as I could manage on a utility bill laying nearby. It took all my energy just to write:

The two animals seem to relate outside of a dominant hierarchy. Curious.

I personally knew that one of these creatures was nocturnal while the other diurnal. Their tendency was to meet in this spot for a communal meal in the middle of the day; breakfast for one, lunch for the other.

As for food, they were omnivorous by nutritional standards, but snack-ivorous by volumetric standards. The giant hideout I conducted my observations from, with its energy bars, chip bags, and carefully stacked tower of unused Chick-fil-A sauces, was further evidence of this.

At this point in my data collection there was an inverse relationship between the inventory of the hideout and the presence of these creatures. The inventory decreased as their presence increased—and this supported my predictions.

What struck me most about these two animals was their mysterious communication style. One would initiate an exchange of information causing the other to bend over with what appeared to be very painful laughter, holding his stomach and howling. This would reverse, and the other would bend over gasping for air. Were they sparring? Were they convulsing? It was hard to say. I jotted it all down.

My most interesting observation came when the animals’ meal ingredients had finally been prepped and placed into the heated pan. A lavish amount of oil was added to the pan, and the meal was left to cook, uncovered. Each of the animals left the room to return to their computers, or so I assumed.

Kitten and I stood behind the hideout and waited. We looked at each other in suspense. Slowly we started to smell the aroma of the food as it cooked and could hear the sizzling of the moisture on the heat. Then we watched splatters of oil fly from the pan and gradually cover the surrounding stovetop the way lava has consumed whole towns.

As a new primatologist this was fascinating to me.

For the first time I was able to observe the causal event of the greasy disaster I often found on my stove. This new data was exciting, as never would I have guessed that it was so anti-climactic, so devoid of people, but it made perfect sense. I was hearing the proverbial tree fall in the forest while nobody was there. The grease happened precisely because no one was around to see it fall. It was an existential moment in my studies.

But in due time the animals returned to their habitat. They collected plates from a cabinet and apportioned dinner in unison. One of them filled two glasses with water. The other grabbed two forks. Using their tools and employing cooperation, they sat down to eat in what appeared to be a deep trust of each other.

It flooded my heart with joy to see. I tried to maintain my objectivity in this moment, but it was impossible. I reverted to my motherhood and watched with pure pleasure. My clan was a happy union. I cried tears of gratitude.

I turned to Kitten and showed my emotion. Kitten took one look at me, moved closer, and licked my face from chin to forehead from her beautiful heart. It was disgusting. Suddenly her goopy kiss made me sneeze uncontrollably. My sneezing infected her, and we began to snort and carry on like two explosions. This is when it happened.

We started to grow.

Amid my spasmodic sneezing, I gasped at what was happening. Kitten looked thunderstruck. We knew what this meant. The ordeal was finally over.

In half a minute we were both back to our regular size, and now we were squeezed onto the top of my kitchen counter. My boys looked on in utter shock. Nobody knew what to do, but then I did.

I clambered down from the counter, picked up Kitten and put her on the floor, walked over to my kids and kissed them both madly on top of their adult heads.

Whether you’re big or small, full-size or shrunk, observer or observed, human or cat—it doesn’t matter one bit. What matters is love. And friends, please, don’t just eat any old thing you get in the mail.