that's why my friends call me whiskers

we were making something.
supper, i think. [and to those of you who call supper "dinner", i say, "shsh."]
anyway, i was stirring something {kraft dinner, i think} and that was when he ducked out of the kitchen for a minute, because either he needed to get something in another room or he was pushing the play button on the tape deck again, and that was when i pulled a clumsy and, while reaching for the salt shaker, knocked the porcelain bowl off the counter.  and then time




slowed
and
stopped.

i       was          able       to         calmly          and         accurately        evaluate        the        situation:        my         flailing       hands,        my           beloved            porcelain        pajama-patterned             bowl--mid-flight,         that        old         man            across          the              street           that       i         always        see         everywhere     but         don't        know         where         he           lives.       and          in          that          split           second,           i            swung            around,          180        degrees,           quietly         reached          out         my         hand          and        made         the          catch.        out        of         thin            air.         and           then                                            time




sped up and we were back in full swing again, bowl intact. i was pleased with myself.
"barclay!" i screamed, "i am like a jungle cat!"
as if jungle cats could catch falling things or something. but i meant it to mean that i felt very agile and cool. like maybe a tiger.

but upon further examination, it may have just been a lucky catch.