Lucky Day by Gloria Moress

I don’t believe in luck. Every cat I own is black, and I have thirteen now Nero has gone. I don’t notice ladders so I can’t tell you if I walk under them or not; and I’ve certainly broken a mirror or two in my time. Not by looking in them, I must hasten to add, so maybe I am lucky. I have put shoes on tabletops and if I spill the salt, my only worry is the waste.
So I must be forgiven for my cynicism when that young man came to the door and announced, “It’s your lucky day…” dragging that monstrous contraption of a vacuum cleaner behind him. Sarsaparilla seized the opportunity to shoot through, and I momentarily envied her. Still, good manners must prevail, so I showed him my polite old lady face, and let him in.
He flipped through a series of glossy placards in a ring binder, talking nineteen to the dozen about “extra features”, “extended warranties”, “unsurpassed performance” and “powerful suction”. I perched on the edge of the armchair, which seemed to encourage him, although it was from necessity rather than interest as Licorice and Sambo were curled up in the seat and Cola was draped along the back. I absently stroked the cat on my lap, Taxi, so named because he was black and white and the later it was at night, the harder he was to find.
The young man had paused in inquiry and I had no idea what he’d last said.
“Well!” I offered.
“So would you like me to demonstrate the turbo suction of the power head on the deluxe model?”
“Why not?”
He emptied his little containers of dust and dirt and dutifully vacuumed them back up, looking to me for gushing displays of awe and appreciation of the “superb cleaning power”. I simply raised my eyebrows, shushing Goblin away when he looked as if he was going to use one of the piles for kitty litter.
“Do you have any questions, ma’am?”
“My main problem is these wretched creatures.” My gesture encompassed twenty-six eyes in shades from pale gold to emerald. Morticia turned an ear back in disdain. “Will it get rid of pet hair?”
“Absolutely!” His eyes gleamed.
“Here’s a spot,” I pointed, “and there. What about upholstery? They shed awfully at times.”
He busied himself getting rid of every last cat hair in the room.
“And the curtains. You did say it could do drapes?”
He almost fell over the elephantine hose in his eagerness to demonstrate this “unique feature”.
“Does it do hard floors? Sweeping gives me a crick in the back nowadays.” I guided him to the kitchen, where he zealously vacuumed, including the corners and awkward places between the cupboards and stove when I asked to see how the attachments worked. Even Felix was persuaded by the massive roaring machine, abandoning his post by the pantry where he spent his days picketing for constant access to food and stalking past us, tail high. Golliwog and Smithy watched from the windowsill with bored derision.
He continued talking about easy finance and payment plans as he packed away his kit. I opened the door and eased him out, pushing Darth and Cinders back in with my foot and using their imminent escape as an excuse to shut the door all but a crack.
“Thank you young man, it is indeed a magnificent machine. I’ll talk to my family about it. I have your card.” I gently closed the last inch of door.
“Well pusses, what do you think?” I asked as Piewackit pressed herself against my legs, her little stuttering motor a relief after the roaring Hypomax Superfilter. I looked at the spotless floors. The carpet hadn’t been this clean in years. Yes, he had done a good job with his contraption, and now I could sit with a nice cuppa.
Perhaps he was right, and it was my lucky day, after all.