The rain continued to pour down across the west of Scotland in biblical amounts last night and civilisation nearly ground to a halt in our house. It was the master's first day back at work after his illness and he returned a weary man in need of revitilisation. His dinner was cooking but firstly he needed to wash the day off his hands. He lathered up on liquid soap and turned the tap but was surprised to find no water. Instead the tap gurgled and spat and hissed air, the little water that did issue staying brown like his diarrhoea from the previous week, albeit less smelly.
Looking at his soap-covered hands in disbelief and disappointment, he then turned to the mistress to read-lip her whisper about a burst water main repair on the main road. Wiping the soap from his hands on the kitchen towel he sighed, "How long till dinner?"
"Go and get changed quickly - 5 min" was the scribbled reply. I was surprised to see her write in italics too.
Upon reaching the bedroom, the master changed out of his suit then entered the ensuite to test the water there. He was too tired to think logically. How could a mains tap work upstairs if it was not working downstairs? Never mind. Another sigh and he emptied his bladder, deliberately. Mostly in the bowl too. Then, on autopilot, he pushed the lever to flush. The water whirled away and just as it reached its lowest point he suddenly realised his mistake and let out a loud curse as the cistern began to cough and bluster and make other noises like it might explode. A breathless mistress then appeared in the doorway to remind him too late not to flush and they both prayed the toilet wasn't broken. Eventually the noises stopped and a brown liquid sedimented inside the bowl. He didn't try to flush it again.
For dinner they had a little spicy cajun chicken on a bed of pureed vegetables. I got to watch them eat it from my bed, where I'm sent at their meal times. I'm occasionally thrown a tidbit by the master when the mistress isn't watching. Not that he'd hear her complain now, what with her laryngitis.
After dinner, the master looked across hopefully at the kettle only to be disappointed. There wasn't enough water left in it to make one cup of tea, never mind two. Another sigh. Parched, with a mouth more than a little burny, I noticed him glance at my water bowl and decided not to share. I slinked out of my bed and lapped up a couple of tonguefuls and made my way to the back door. I was thinking time for some more Cat Attack practice!
When he opened the door for me, suggesting I wouldn't want to go, I realised he was right and backed back inside. No cat would be so stupid as to be out in that. It did give me a thought though. Perhaps the master could put a bowl outside for himself to catch the rain water. He could use this to fill the kettle for his tea. It wouldn't take long with the rain coming down in such torrents. But it turns out he's fussy. One little viral bug and he's too scared in case his immune system can't cope with any rain bugs. So instead, he grabbed a plastic bottle of Coca Cola from the cupboard and drank that, much to the minor irritation of the mistress. This was not a treat day for his diet.
How long would this internal drought go on? They wanted to know if it had been reported. This was now over two hours with no water. When were they going to get their emergency water bottles to wash and bathe with? I didn't care. If I was thirsty, I still had my bowl and, when that was done, there were plenty of puddles in the garden to drink from.
Before they could even locate the emergency number, they read on the website that the issue was being dealt with and within another hour the water was reconnected. Panic over. It stayed browny for a while. When the master showered the next morning it looked like when they bath me after a particularly muddy session, only with less hairs left in the plughole afterwards. In fact I missed a trick. I could have been playing in the mud without fear of an instant bath when they had no water. I'll need to remember that for next time.