I never told anyone this, but when I was about six years old, I did something that wasn't very nice that included my cat, the couches in my basement, and a bottle of Selson Blue Shampoo. I don't know why I did it. I'm not going to be like Son of Sam and say it was my cat that told me to, because it certainly wasn't. My puffy Persian did not like my idea at all.

Bored and finding nothing good on TV, I had wandered into the basement bathroom and found an open bottle of shampoo. I picked it up, intending to close it, but instead I smelled it. It smelled so nice, so pretty and clean. I poured a drop in my hand. It was such a pretty light blue. The cold and creamy shampoo oozed off the side of my hand and dripped onto the floor. Instead of cleaning it up, I poured more directly onto the tiles. Then I poured about half the bottle onto the bathroom floor before I stopped. What a beautiful blue puddle I had made! I wondered whether I should step in it, but I decided I shouldn't. I decided my cat should.

For some reason I liked the idea of my big silverywhite cat unwittingly walking through my puddle and coming out with blue feet. I placed him in front of the shampoo pond, assuming he would find it as attractive as I did, and walk right into it. He, however, was a sensible old cat, and had no such intentions, so I sat down on the floor and pulled him into my lap. I hugged him, and then held him up gently so that he was standing on his two hind paws. Perhaps I thought that would help him see things from my perspective. It didn't. I danced him around the edge of the puddle that way ("Doo-dah-doo. Doo-dahdoo... Whoops!") and dropped him into it, accidentally - on purpose.

What I was not prepared for was his fear. He jumped up, rocketed across the basement, zoomed across the couch, and disappeared up the stairs. I shrugged and turned to go clean up the shampoo on the tiles. Then I stopped and stared at the basement. It was completely decorated in blue paw-prints! They were across the white, speckled rug. They were all over the brown couch, not only the seat cushions, but through some incredible feat of centrifugal force, the backrest cushions, too. I grinned. This was great! It was so ... so ... BEAUTIFUL! Paw-prints! All over! It was my idea of great decorating. Then my grin faded. I was going to be in so much trouble! I wondered how I could keep them from finding out.

"DANIELLE !" I cringed. Apparently my cat had told on me. My parents had been rather surprised to see my cat doing Mach 7 from the basement splattering blue ooze from his paws. Needless to say, they were less than pleased. They assumed it was my fault, which was logical, I suppose. Logical and fair. I'd say it was fair to assume that my cat didn't wander into the bathroom with the intention of making his fur more manageable, pour most of the contents of the bottle on the floor himself, dance a selection from Swan Lake in the shampoo, and beat it out of there leaving me with the blame.

Like I said, I never told anybody this. My parents did find out, and I decided that denying it or possibly giving them the above story was not the wisest plan. I never actually told them, though. Now, years later, my family finds this quite an amusing story, even though I was horrified at the thought of the consequences at the time. It makes me think that maybe in a few years, the story about me coming home two hours after curfew will be cause for a yuk-fest ...

But I doubt it.