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  • Writer's pictureLeah Jones


I call it Asshole Hour. It usually happens within an hour of when I get home from work and is limited to my cats chasing each other around the apartment being assholes. Sometimes the hissing is worse than others, but it always results in extra attention.

Tonight the hissing and yowling was louder than usual, but Asshole Hour only lasted 3 minutes. It ended in a crash.

Not the crash of a plate. A plate crashing is sudden and swift. This crash happened in stages and I decided it was a bottle of wine I’d just left on the counter.

It wasn’t.

It was the purple glass shofar that my dad made me when he was regularly blowing glass. It had been pushed from the top of the fridge to the kitchen floor where it seemed to break over and over again.

Two hours later and I’m still full of adrenaline. Despite a wake-up call in 3 hours, I’m wide awake now. Unpacked for my next business trip and so angry at my cats for being cats. They have been quietly cuddling since it happens. Trying to secure a place in the house for the foreseeable future.

The adrenaline is making me spin mentally. I jump from website to website, unable to focus. Draft and delete emails where I ask for help from friends. Draft and delete blog posts.

Draft and delete. Spin with adrenaline. Try to unwind.

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