Toby and I hired a maid. We made the appointment two weeks ago. She was to begin Monday.
On Saturday night I began to freak out about the logistics. (How would she get in the house? Were we supposed to leave? Did she need to use our supplies? If we left the house, how would she lock up? Am I supposed to tip her? Does she do laundry? Am I supposed to tidy up the house first? What if she’s allergic to cats? Oh my crap! Murray!)
I voiced my concerns to Toby starting with the more reasonable.
“Do we stay here while she’s cleaning?”
“We don’t have to.”
“Do we need to move things around so she can get to certain areas? Does she do the closets?”
“I’m not sure. We’ll have to ask.”
Realizing that he wasn’t going to suggest that we cancel, I dove right in.
“What about Murray?”
“What about him?”
“What will we do with Murray?”
“Nothing. He’ll probably eat her.”
“Well, what if she uses poisonous cleaning supplies? I think we should cancel. I’ll clean instead.”
“Whatever you want.” He rolled his eyes.
On Sunday I canceled the arrangement and asked Toby to keep an eye on Em so I could clean up. I started with the counters and the stove and worked my way down. Just as I began to mop the kitchen floor, I was attacked.
Murray leapt into the air—all four feet off the floor, arms spread wide, eyes wider—and bear-hugged the mop with all his might, deploying a move we liked to call “The Grizzly Bear”.
The mop gave way beneath his weight. As his hind legs touched the floor again, he slid full force into the mop bucket, spilling water everywhere. Unsure of how to regain his composure on the slick surface, he tried running, which sent him sliding all over the linoleum surface.
I looked down at the wet, hairy mess. The kitchen was dirtier than it had been before I started.
“See!” I said from the kitchen. “This is why we can’t hire a stranger to come clean our house!”