Of course, normal people, people not cursed by the plumbing gods as we are, would never think this. And, in fact, I didn't either until I was wading across the kitchen.

"Aha!" thought I, "So that's what was missing."

The cause of the problem seemed to be a cylindrical plastic basket type thingy that had been propelled across the floor by the tidal wave gushing from the base of our washing machine. I turned off the machine, shoved it back in, and the haemorraging stopped, leaving Elvis and I free to mop up the floor and discuss just what it was that we did in a past life to deserve the hatred of water-bearing appliances everywhere.

We figure it couldn't have been in this life, as one isn't likely to forget doing something sufficiently evil to explain it.

You know, it's amazing just how much water a washing machine that size can hold.

We did discover a tiny, yellow band; the kind that little girls use in their ponytails. It had obviously been ejected along with the basket and about one hundred gallons of water. I'm hoping that was the source of the problem, as the washing machine is the only one of our major appliances that was working properly. You have to kick the dryer door, water mysteriously collects in the bottom of the fridge and the door-shelving is all busted, and the dishwasher worked exactly once before refusing to ever work again. It must have figured out who was pushing the on button. Once Elvis gets up, I plan to have us both standing by with several bathtowels each, start it up, and see if it will finish the load.

Calliope was traumatized by the whole thing. I set up her kitty-buffet between the dryer and the fridge, and I'd just given her a special treat to reward her for using her scratching post (Beaker is back!) and keeping her pee in the box for one whole day. When the eruption started, she was right next to it. I was in the hall, heard her yelp of fear, and turned around just in time to see her go streaking out of the kitchen like her tail was on fire. Which was lucky because (1) it enabled me to get to the scene of the problem right away, and (2) it was pretty funny.

After the kitchen dried out, she sat in the hallway crying as I set her food back out in a different corner of the room, far from the washing machine. She was too scared to come back in, but hunger won out and she came creeping, suspiciously, back in. I set my wineglass in the sink, and the tiny noise it made startled her and she took off running. Calliope seems to be over it now: her bowls were empty this morning when I got up, and she is busy whining for more as I type.

I just relented, and went to feed her, checking on the status of the bathroom along the way. Seems she got over the "keeping the pee in the litter box" thing as well.

Elvis and I coped with the whole situation by going out to the pub, playing darts, and drinking until we couldn't throw straight. Well, I couldn't, anyway.

In a related item, the drain in the bathtub is running slower and slower. Elvis has declared today to be his internet day (once he gets up and showers, that is, so I'm safe for a while), so I'll be off to the store to find out if liquid plumber is, in fact, available here. If not, I'll be force to rely, as Outfoxed so wittily puts it, on the Plumber Made Manifest variety. I am praying, of course, for the former.