Jaci Dawn

I’m the glass on the edge, and let me tell you, it makes me nervous. I hold about 4 ounces (113.398 grams) of purple grape juice. Katie left me here when she ran into the kitchen to tell her momma that Zeke keeps staring at her. Zeke is quietly sniggering behind his lap top. Behind me, the television is set on some annoying sing-along kiddie program.

Forgive me, I didn’t properly introduce myself. I am a juice glass, usually reserved for the adults, but Katie is meticulous. She doesn’t like spills. She’s very particular.She is the first of them – Zeke, Julie, and Katie – to be allowed to carry me around. Katie places me carefully in the center of the table – except for now. Now I am on the edge.

Meow-Meow has been curled up on the sofa next to Zeke, purring loudly. I think Meow-Meow has the same warped sense of humor as his favorite human, and now he has cracked open his baleful yellow eyes to study me. I know he’s looking at me. The tip of his tail twitches. His whiskers quiver. Just like that, he’s jumped from the sofa to the table where I am sitting and he is sniffing at the contents I am holding.

Zeke looks up. “Better not, Meow-Meow. Mom just shampooed.” The cat looks back at his human and seems to nod. Then he looks at me.

WHOP! I am airborne. I bounce off of the sofa in a spray of purple and the sound of my sides exploding from the blow. I hear the background exclamation of, “Oh shit! Meow-Meow! Bad kitty!” I dimly notice the cat’s paws as he leaps past my line of vision and out of the room, and I bounce onto the white carpet, still spilling grape juice. The toe of Zeke’s sneaker catches me and I am sent rolling into the darkness underneath the sofa.

It is scary here. Dark. Dust bunnies open their eyes and stare at me. Beyond, I hear Katie crying, and the momma yelling at Zeke to clean up the glass and juice. Glass. Shards of me. A dust bunny hops forward. “If they clean under here because of you, we’ll finish you off in the dust bin.” I shudder.