all about the kettle

The kettle was noisy in the background. It was ready to eject its little emergency feet (they all have them) and run off from the burning stove spiral.
The floor under our knees was getting warmer.

The kettle was almost at the point of suicide, but us two, we were at the point of forgetting our parents and we would have if that puzzle did not guarantee to be completed some time in the future. I do not even own a kettle, so that one was imaginary anyway, so do not judge us for being bad parents to our kettles or anything. We are coffee drinkers anyway. And that coffee shop franchise was having a lottery: you could win a glorious pile of stuff if you lucked out and got the cup that had a golden ticket under its rim. So we were buying those coffee cups at that time and rolling up the rims, like mad, believing, never losing faith, waiting, waiting, being unreasonable, waiting...

Tomorrow morning we will have to fly across the completed part over to the opposite end and try to finish the whole thing.

I am hoping the house is not too offended by us being so negligent. After all, we simply let it be. We let it collect its own stories in tiny pieces of dust and puffy crumbs of lint.