Blame

"And now for something completely different..."

Look at her just sitting there. The inborn arrogance emanates from her delicate, up-turned face. Her contempt should not surprise me, as I encounter it daily. She would claim no responsibility for what had just occurred. Why should she? In all her years, guilt and accountability have been alien experiences.

She glances down at the chaos laid out at her feet before returning her attention to me. Her gaze reveals neither remorse, nor compassion for the injured party; instead, it conveys annoyance. A familiar twitch suggests that impatience has permeated her entire body. Today, as always, the responsibility would be laid entirely upon my shoulders.

I begin to consider the possibility that the fault is mine. After nearly sixteen years in her service I should have anticipated what could happen. She didn’t plan this, and when all is cleaned up, no resentment toward me would linger. It is only a perceived arrogance which I feel. In actuality, she is helpless and dependant upon me for her basic needs. How could I blame her? She had no way of knowing that her actions would cause me pain.

As I massage my twisted ankle, I regard the situation in a softer light. I will have to sweep the broom underneath the fridge, as some of her cat food had slid under during the spill. I answer her insistent meow.

“Yes Cleo, I will get your food in the dish this time…as long as you stay out from under my feet!”