What typically happens when I boil water for tea:
I fill up my whistling teapot and wander off. By the time I hear the beginnings of a low whistle, I am at the very opposite end of the condo. I seize up at the thought of our crazy, grumpy, next-door neighbor knocking on the door to complain about noise levels, so I make a mad dash to the kitchen. This involves slaloming around furniture, as I have a weakness for...um...all furniture. The whistling builds. One or all three of my cats decide to saunter along in front of me, directly underfoot, all the way to the kitchen. By the time I reach the teapot, it is at mad shrieking levels. I lift it from the stovetop and breathe a sigh of relief as quiet descends.
What I wish would happen:
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