Gutters. What are they? Most people never think about gutters, and yet there they are, hanging on the sides of houses, doing whatever it is gutters do. Collecting water, presumably. Directing it somewhere. One has to wonder: does anyone truly appreciate the gutter?
My moustache tingled this morning as I gazed out the window of my converted apple barn, and I knew — I simply *knew* — that today was the day to address this overlooked topic. Koko had been staring at the ceiling with an intensity that can only be described as oracular. When a cat of Koko’s intellectual caliber fixes his gaze upward, one pays attention. Yum Yum, meanwhile, had knocked a pencil off my desk, which I interpreted as a directive to write.
Gutters are long. They are also narrow. Why are they narrow? Nobody seems to ask this. Here in Pickax, where we have endured no fewer than seven arsons, four murders, and an attempted poisoning in the past eighteen months — a perfectly normal rate for a community of three thousand — gutters take on a special significance. One never knows what might wash out of them. Evidence, perhaps. I say this hypothetically, of course.
I recently had my own gutters cleaned at the apple barn, and I must say the expense was outrageous. Fourteen dollars. The K Fund technically covers property maintenance, and my accountant assures me this qualifies as a heritage preservation expenditure, which is entirely reasonable and beyond reproach. Still, I noticed the gutter man eyeing Koko through the window with suspicious interest. People covet my cats. I have installed additional locks.
Speaking of which, something has been eating the birdseed I leave out — reluctantly, and only because Koko enjoys watching birds through the glass. Squirrels, most likely. Thieves, all of them.
Gutters are important. They are also sometimes not important. What more can one say? Koko just sneezed twice, which I take as confirmation that this column is finished and that Moose County should be grateful it was written at all.
Gutters.
Leave a Reply