Sometimes, I want coffee in the morning. Sometimes, I need coffee in the morning.
I had headed into the kitchen the other day to make a pot. The cat swished his tail as I walked past. Bending down, I reached under the counter and fumbled around for the tall, silver percolator. It wasn’t in the place I expected, so I shifted left, but banged my elbow into the cabinet door. Right on the funny bone. I tried to shake off the tingling and kept searching the dark space until I felt the curved handle. Got it.
I stood up and set the pot on the counter. I realized I wasn’t alone. Something prickled the skin on my left hand. I looked down. A long-legged spider rested on my sweatshirt sleeve. Or, with my low vision, maybe a piece of my hair and some lint, but I wasn’t taking chances.
Before the creature moved, I took the coffee pot lid and brushed the bug off me, then smashed my forearm on the counter. I swept whatever it was into the garbage. The cat watched from his perch, licking his paw.
I washed my hands and filled the coffee pot with water. I placed a filter with two spoonfuls of breakfast blend in the basket and plugged in the cord. I exhaled. I needed coffee.