History is a funny thing.  The more you learn about it the more you think you can predict future behaviors.  But History likes to prove me wrong.

For example, History only eats canned cat food.  I tried buying the dried food and he just turned up his nose.  I tried mixing the canned food with the dried food and he wouldn’t eat that either.  So, I figure he has a discerning palate—more discerning than mine anyway.

However, the other day I found him scrounging through the sink picking out the odd tidbit and lapping up the milk.  You have to understand that the dishes in my sink have been there at least a week.  They would probably sit longer but about that time I start to run out of bowls.

If it were plates it wouldn’t be a problem.  I usually don’t bother with plates anyway.  Even if it were cups, I wouldn’t mind drinking out of the container for awhile.  But bowls are difficult to get by without.

But I digress.  Shortly after History and I had settled into a routine—breakfast, a bowl of cereal for me and canned cat food followed by my leftover milk for History; followed by computer games (it’s a lot more difficult to play with History pulling the mouse off the desk whenever he feels I’m doing to well); followed by enough effort to find a job to satisfy unemployment; followed by dinner, usually delivery; late-night television during which I fall asleep on the couch and History gently walks me by using me as a scratching post—shortly after this I received a call from my old boss, Mr. Heston.

Apparently there had been some type of clerical error.  Mr. William Taylor when he was discovered by Roger had been rushed to the hospital.  He was checked into the hospital at the same time as a Mr. Nicholas Taylor.  Mr. Nicholas Taylor died shortly after arrival.  However, it was Mr. William Taylor who was reported as deceased in the hospital’s paperwork.

Incidentally, the deceased Mr. Taylor’s insurance had been paying all Mr. William Taylor’s hospital bills.  That was actually how the mistake was discovered.  The insurance refused to pay for a procedure which they claimed was unnecessary given Mr. Nicholas Taylor’s medical history.  Given the fact that the man was dead I’d have to agree with them.  In any event, the long and the short of it was that I was being given back my job.  Since I couldn’t collect unemployment if I had a job offer I was forced to accept.

It was easy enough to fall back into my old routine—although this time History would come with me to wake me when my shift was ending.  You are probably wondering as I’d just been nearly fired for sleeping on the job why I wasn’t being more diligent.  I figure nothing bad actually happened last time so why not continue with a good thing?

Still, in this instance I might have been better off had I listened to you.  A couple months after I’d started my job again Mr. Taylor had another accident.  I must admit I felt less responsible this time because Mr. Taylor had stopped providing my morning wake up call.  With History pouncing on my head each morning there really was no need.  Also it was safer for any bystanders to keep there distance after a wake up call like that.

This particular incident was caused by a combination of to much wine and an emergency trip to the restroom.  History pounced on my head, much as usual and I went chasing after him with murder on the mind.  He trotted up to the cold body of Mr. Taylor and stared back at me reproachfully.

And as if on cue there was Mr. Heston, “Hewwo, Yoos. I would wike to discuss yo’ job puhfowmance.”  In something of a rage I drove off without History.  This was most certainly his fault.

Upon arriving home I looked out the window and the sun again disappeared behind the clouds.  I told you my bad moods caused the sun to sail across the sky.

I also noticed History, still looking reproachful.