This is a story about a farkakt kitchen drawer and a cat with food insecurity issues.  It’s also a story about patience and frustration, with a dash of procrastination, along with figuring out the right problem to solve and then actually solving it the right way.  Then we throw in a little about temper and compassion.  In short, this is a story about life.  I hope it has a happy ending.

We have a wonky drawer in our kitchen that just happens to be our junk drawer.  I’m guessing you have one of these drawers, too.  You’re not really sure all that’s in it but there are a few things in there that you need to access on a regular basis.  If you are unlucky like us then that drawer sticks and jams consistently.  This drawer has been like this for the five years I’ve lived in this house.  Under questioning, Trish admits that the drawer has been like this since she moved in—approximately 30 years ago.  The drawer is just pathetic.  It is literally held together with wood glue and duct tape.  There have been attempts to fix it countless times.  Sometimes it has been a half-hearted effort.  Sometimes it has been a well-intention full assault—a project, if you will—that involved emptying the drawer and using an array of fasteners that THIS time will fix it for good.  Within one hour, it is always sticking again.  We have been so frustrated that we have actually discussed remodeling our kitchen—spending tens of thousands of dollars—to get rid of this drawer.

Our story begins one unremarkable day when I said, “How would you feel if I found a carpenter who would be willing to rebuild that drawer?”  Trish was immensely pleased that I was actually willing to take on a task that required picking up the phone, possibly more than once, to call a person I did not know.  (Yes, it is a wonder I ever held a job.)  One Facebook post on the Township Page, one Messenger conversation, and one phone call later, I had our man.  I was VERY pleased with myself.  Jack came the very next day, surveyed the problem child and took it with him to rebuild.  A few days later, he brought back to us a bunch of dried wood glue with some drawer in it, with a new bottom and a bunch of metal L clips at each joint.  And did I mention a ton of wood glue?  Never mind, he was able to salvage the frontispiece and return a drawer that seemed to work.  We were thrilled!  We loaded all the crap back in the drawer and went about our business.  Within a couple of days, the drawer started to stick again.

The fateful day in question dawned bright and sunny and comparatively warm.  It was The Spring of Deception in Pennsylvania.  Soon we would plunge back into the darkness and cold of Third Winter, to be followed by The Pollening.  But it was The Spring of Deception and we were feeling good!  It had been a nice day.  We were out and about, wearing only lightweight facemasks and no jackets.  Around 4:00-ish, I made the damning statement:  I think I’m going to try and fix the drawer.  Trish recoiled in horror before collecting herself and bravely saying, “OK.”  She then slinked off into another room.

“It has to be something simple,” I thought.  “The drawer has been FIXED.  Probably just need to center the drawer in the rails better.”  Thus, began the yanking.  And the more stubborn jamming.  And more yanking.  And cursing.  HOW?!  How is this happening?!  We FIXED the drawer!  I hauled off and whacked the drawer but good, trying to get it to reseat on its rails.  A little voice in my head screamed, “Oh good lord, don’t break the drawer again!”  It made a pained crunching sound but did slam shut.  It would not reopen.  I backed up a step, expelled an expletive, and stepped on the cat.

First, you have to understand a little about Bridget.  She was found as a tiny kitten on a concrete barrier in the middle of a bridge (hence her name) over South Philly in the middle of rush hour.  The daughter of a friend was stopped in rush hour traffic and saw her little eyes.  One allergic fiancée later, we had ourselves a sister for Beau the Wonder Cat.  I am convinced she retains food insecurity issues from those traumatic early days.  Every day she acts as if she has not eaten in weeks.  Come feeding time, she weaves in and out of legs, supervising the feeding process:  first the fresh water, now the cans of wet food, now the dry food.  Hurry hurry hurry!  In fact, I swear the cat can tell time.  We feed them at 5:00.  Starting around 4:00, she starts bugging us.  Then she starts doing things she knows will annoy us, hoping we’ll give in and just feed her.  It was dinner time, but all of my moving around in the kitchen was not producing dinner and she was beside herself.  She kept trying to supervise and I wasn’t getting the job done!  Then I stepped on her.

Anyone who has ever stepped on a cat or a small dog knows the pain/fear/heartbreak/guilt of that high pitched scream.  I, however, was in no mood for this and I yelled at her.  Then I decided that I needed to fold the laundry and stomped upstairs.  Poor little girl!  She didn’t understand the drawer thing!  I was in the kitchen.  It was near feeding time.  Her job was to follow or lead me around and make sure I fed her.  It wasn’t HER fault that the damn drawer still jammed, nor that I stepped back suddenly.  You always hurt the ones you love.

By the time I finished folding, Trish had fed the cats.  I fiddled more with the drawer and got it open and emptied.  Then I finally discovered the real problem:  the cabinet was not square.  It was ever so slightly wider at the top than at the bottom.  The top drawer was always going to fall off the rails.  They were just too far apart.  The drawer falling apart was a symptom, not the cause.  It was yanked on so much over the years it just fell to pieces.  Upon interrogation, the long-time homeowner admitted she KNEW that was the problem, hence the paper shims behind the rails that worked for a few days but kept falling off.  Yours truly just never put those facts together.  (And Trish never got the drawer fixed properly.)

How many times have I done that?  Gotten so frustrated over a “problem” that I never took the time to ask myself, “Is this really the problem?  Or just a symptom?”  And in my anger and frustration, I ended up taking it out on this innocent little being who just wanted dinner.  What a mess!

Fortunately, this story has a happy ending.  Bridget did, indeed, get fed that night and every night since.  She still doubts that it will always happen.  Jack called to see if the drawer was fixed to our satisfaction and agreed to come back and fix the REAL problem.  Is it perfect?  No, but there is only so much you can do with 1980’s era original construction cabinetry.  It’s still a tad wonky, but it doesn’t jam anymore.  So, as you can see, I am continuing to learn and relearn all the lessons I write about.  I’m here to “get it right, not BE right”.  We are all works in progress!

EDITORS NOTE: As said “long-time homeowner,” I wish to explain that the drawer was never THAT much of a problem until the author moved in. My Southern Peach is a delicate flower until she isn’t.  Her longshoreman swearing scared not only Bridget, but also Beau and me.  And the laundry she went to fold?  It looked like I had folded it—small balls of fabric and mismatched socks.  *Sigh* Thank goodness Jack came back.