Mamie Levine found herself in the living room again. Now, what the dickens?

Pickles started to meow, and choked it off in a startled “meep.”

“I’ve lost my marbles, Pickles, dear. Have you seen my marbles?”

Pickles sat on his haunches, looking up at Mamie. His tongue lolled out of his mouth. And he was panting again.

“Oh, dear, you’re all upset again.” Mamie bent down and picked up the cat, who went limp in her arms. “You’re shaking. What’s gotten into you?”

Mamie rolled Pickles onto his back, but he wriggled himself upright again. He usually loved having his belly rubbed. But he was still shaking. Shaking and panting.

“You’re really upset, aren’t you Pickles?” Mamie said.

Pickles just panted.

“Maybe you’d like some milk. That always helps.”

Mamie carried Pickles into the kitchen, stroking him and humming softly. As she stepped onto the kitchen floor, her foot slipped and her legs splayed, tossing cat one way and Mamie the other.

“What the ding dang?” Maybe squeaked.

The floor was wet. The whole floor was wet, including a few puddles in the low spots of the uneven linoleum.

And in the corner, the mop stood in a blue bucket.

Mamie stared at the mop, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Finally, she said, “Well, Pickles, I guess if I’m going to go crazy, I might as well be have a clean house.”

Pickles looked at Mamie and quiverred.