I knew that going to the laundromat at 2am was a bad idea, but I didn't have a choice.

In less than six hours, I had to be at work and I still had to eat and dinner.

The half unpacked remains of my move, they scattered around the cramped studio apartment,

and that was how disaster struck.

In slow motion, I watched it happen.

My neatly pressed work uniform hanging from a chair in the kitchen, the boiling pot of

pasta and the open jar of tomato sauce beside it.

My fluffy golden cat waffles, gently nudging the jar towards the end of the counter with

a single, sadistic paw.

Waffles, no, I shouted.

Too late.

The jar shattered on the floor, the kitchen, and my work uniform now looked like movie props

from an 80's slasher flick.

Waffles, his eyes wide as though the chaos had been caused by some other cat, scurried off

to hide under the bed.

I hung my head and turned the spaghetti pot off.

Everything else that had just happened to me lately, and now this, I was starting a new

job and living out of my suitcase on a seedy side of town, because of a messy breakup

with my ex-boyfriend Nate.

Just three days before I was starting over from nothing, I really needed this job.

I couldn't afford to show up covered in tomato sauce stains on my first day.

It's cursing at stuff that crimson spattered clothing into a laundry bag and trudge downstairs.

...