Sitting bra-less on her dirty kitchen floor, she stared into her oven.
Before this reality of being trapped like a rat inside a trap- not to become poisoned but to hide from it- she had replaced all her old appliances. Refrigerator, microwave (she actually didn’t even have one before), dishwasher, and a sparkly new oven had all been installed less than two months before the shelter-in-place orders. She had never been so happy about such a decision because though she was a trapped rat, she was a trapped rat with top-of-the-line appliances to cook and heat her food.
The oven was a convection oven, and she didn’t really know what that meant. Her husband tried to explain to her that she of course needed this feature, and it had to do with cooking the food more evenly and possibly faster. But she was scared to press the button for “convection.” Wasn’t that a zone inside the sun? How hot would it get? Would her food explode? Turn into a soupy mush?
She had time to find out.
She cut some zucchini spears up, and sprinkled them with Everything Bagel Seasonings. Less carbs right? She pressed the button. It said “roast” with a little icon of a fan on it. Cute. Then she waited. She didn’t know if the fan was spinning. Where was the light? She found it and bent down. She didn’t see the fan spinning. She occupied her mind elsewhere for a few minutes then came back. She couldn’t see. So, she sat down on the floor.
Ah, so this was the cat’s perspective. She should probably mop.
She peered into the oven door. She could see her reflection in the thick glass. Over-sized hoodie, hair color fading, jeans and stupid knitted socks with cat ears on them. She had been wearing this uniform all day. Real shoes for work would probably hurt her feet, if she ever put them on again.
The fan began spinning.
Then it stopped.
Then it clicked on again with a soft whir.
She assumed it was working.
She could probably get off the floor now.
That was fun, she thought.
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