- Holly Searle
- London, United Kingdom
- Holly Searle is a writer and an artist who was made in Soho and thereafter born in the heart of London. She has been blessed with two quite remarkable children and grandchildren whom she adores. She enjoys the company of her friends and the circus that is life, has a degree in Film and Television, and has exhibited her artwork in several exhibition.
Sunday, 11 August 2013
Having just placed an online shopping order for the first time in many years this evening, has reminded me of a hilarious incident that once occurred many moons ago, when I used to use this service on a regular basis.
During the latter part of his life, our then elderly cat Jones, was no longer able to make it to the cat tray in time, and would therefore leave small piles of his personal waste around the house.
It was just one of those things. He usually left these little gifts whilst I was at work, which would be waiting for me on my return. Or during the night, while we were all sleeping. The smell of which, would be the first thing I noticed on waking.
Poor old puss.
When these unfortunate little accidents took place, I would clean them up as quickly as possible with some tissue, and then place the whole smelly pile in a plastic carrier bag, which I would then place outside the front door with the intention of disposing of in one of the communal bins the next time I ventured out.
On one such occasion, I arrived home from work, opened the front door, and was met with that all too familiar fragrant smell. I immediately sourced a carrier bag from the cupboard. It was an orange one from the supermarket that regularly delivered my weekly shop. Having grabbed the bag, I quickly clean-up his mess, and placed the bag outside the front door as I usually did.
Life carried on.
And the lone cat poo in the orange carrier bag, sat by the doormat, outside the door, and waited.
Now, it just so happened that I was due a delivery from the supermarket that had provided this carrier bag that very same evening.
When the delivery man arrived at my front door laden with orange bags full of shopping, he handed them to me and I took them into the kitchen, as I usually did, and started to unpack them.
However, something wasn't quite right, and I realised that he had given me the wrong order.
This isn't my order I thought, as I gazed at items that I had no recall of ever having ordered.
So, I started putting all the items back in the bags, and when he returned from his van with the remaining part of the order, I explained my discovery.
He about turned with what he had, and went off to his van to locate my order.
While he was doing that, I had started to place all of the other repacked orange bags on the doormat, ready for him to collect on his third shopping bag relay trip.
Eventually he arrived with the correct order, and we were all smiles, as the mystery had been solved.
It was all Cool and The Gang punctuated with nervous good job we discovered that laughter as he took the bags that were waiting and I signed the receipt. I bid him a cheery farewell, closed the front door, shock my head, smiled to myself and sighed.
It was only when I was unpacking my items that it suddenly dawned on me that he had taken all of the orange bags that had been sitting on the doormat outside the front door, including the one containing Jones' latest mishap.
Oh deary, deary me.
This had no doubt been huddle together with all of the other orange carrier bags and was on its way to being delivered to the correct recipient of the shopping that I had mistakenly been given.
I do believe in fate, and that a chain of events invariable happens for a reason. But, for the life of me, I cannot, and will probably never be able to reason why, later that evening, someone in the West London area, received as part of their shopping, an orange carrier bag, that contained a free gift from my cat.
As a wise person once said, shit, it just happens.