Mr. Pumpernickel
Mr. Pumpernickel spent his afternoons in the bathtub. His neighbor’s cat, also named Mr. Pumpernickel, would wander by the bathroom window on occasion, jump up on the windowsill, and wedge his head through the crack to have a look around. Mr. Pumpernickel often left the window open a crack to avoid fogging up the mirrors during his long baths. Mr. Pumpernickel the cat did not like baths.
Mr. Pumpernickel would sometimes eat pistachios in the bath. He’d swish his salty fingers in the soapy water then feel around on the floor for his bowl of nuts. The shells would get tossed into the water at his feet, though sometimes he would flick them towards Mr. Pumpernickel’s head in the window when he was feeling lively. Mr. Pumpernickel would wrinkle his nose into a scowl and mew in response. Mr. Pumpernickel talked to himself in the bath too. It’s where he got his best ideas. Mr. Pumpernickel was an inventor. Mr. Pumpernickel hated Mr. Pumpernickel’s inventions, in particular the ones that were gas-powered and made loud banging noises that echoed through the neighborhood. Mr. Pumpernickel’s bathtub was usually ringed with grease from the dirty work in his laboratory/garage. Mr. Pumpernickel would often leave paw prints of the same grease on the windowsill as he also frequented the laboratory/garage.
Today, Mr. Pumpernickel had worked himself into a frenzy over some greasy problem or another and was splashing about in the bath when Mr. Pumpernickel poked his head in.
“Mr. Pumpernickel?”
Mr. Pumpernickel threw a handful of shells at his head in response.
“Mr. Pumpernickel, I’d like to help.”
“Go away, damn you. You’re a cat.”
“Well so are you.”
Mr. Pumpernickel thought for a moment. He wasn’t a cat, but perhaps Mr. Pumpernickel didn’t know what a cat was. He allowed Mr. Pumpernickel to continue.
“I think I know how to fix the motor on that machine out there in the garage.”
“Laboratory,” corrected Mr. Pumpernickel.
“Laboratory then.”
“Well go on,” replied the grumpy Mr. Pumpernickel.
“Cat food.”
“Cat food?”
“In the gas tank.”
“A likely solution from a cat.”
“Which is precisely why it will work.” Mr. Pumpernickel licked his paws.
“It’s nonsense, Mr. Pumpernickel. A motor would never run on cat food.”
“Mine does,” replied the wise Mr. Pumpernickel.
Mr. Pumpernickel did not appreciate the riddles and splashed his face with the salty, soapy, greasy, tepid water from the bath. He toweled off and climbed back into his coveralls. He met Mr. Pumpernickel at the laboratory door.
Mr. Pumpernickel had brought along a bag of cat food. He assisted while the other unscrewed the gas cap and sprinkled in the little dry fishy nuggets. The tank sloshed with gas and bits of soggy cat food.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” asked Mr. Pumpernickel.
Mr. Pumpernickel turned the key to the motor. The machine sputtered and coughed.
“You try,” he said. The other Mr. Pumpernickel tried his luck with the key but still, the machine would not start. The afternoon light shone through the gas tank and Mr. Pumpernickel watched the silhouette of the cat food expand and soften to mush as it absorbed the remaining gas. There was no more sloshing, just a solid mass of regurgitated swill.
Mr. Pumpernickel sat back on his haunches, defeated. He and Mr. Pumpernickel stayed in the garage until evening, tossing pellets of cat food into one another’s mouths like pistachios.
