When I was 4 or 5, a particularly terrible cuisine-event took place. And it was my fault…
It was late fall, at our families summer home, and my mother was making plumb jelly on the large, wood-burning kitchen range. Pots of plumbs were boiling away, while on the adjoining counter mom had strung up several old pillow cases from the ceiling by rope containing cooked plumbs, from which plumb juices dripped into pans set below. And, Nubby, a very long-haired part-angora cat, sat happily dozing on a chair quite close to the range.
Enter Diana: running into the house fully clad in layers of sweaters and coats, I wheeled into the kitchen and – too late – saw the chair on which Nubby snoozed. I tripped on one of the chair legs, whereupon Nubby awoke suddenly and being frightened, the closest thing on which to jump was [uhh] the very hot, coal-burning range top.
[YIKES!!!] howled Nubby – who then saw the next closest thing to be one of the old pillow cases hanging from the ceiling, full of cooked plumb with juices dripping into pans set below the plum bags. So on the closest he leapt, whereupon the pillowcase burst and cooked, warm plumb exploded all over the top of the range, me, the ceiling, the floor, the counters, and so forth.
Nubby then took off around the house, with mom in hot pursuit. Plumb juice and Nubby-prints then spread around the house and over several pieces of furniture before mom was able to catch the cat.
Thoroughly furious with the whole mess, mom got a big, old, metal wash tub out of the shed, filled it in the yard with water, and dumped both Nubby and me into it and scrubbed as much plumb juice and pieces off of both of us as possible, then drying and putting Nubby outside in the cold, and me to bed. <:-(
It was quite a while before the humor in the event could be appreciated by either of us [and probably never, by Nubby]. But the story later became a family favorite.