Puschel Looks for the Pot of Fat

Flauschi was sitting comfortably in the living room when Puschel came in. He placed one paw carefully in front of the other, watching the floor very closely.

Flauschi“What are you doing?”

Puschel“Don't move! There could be a little pot somewhere.”

Flauschi looked beside her armchair.

Flauschi“What kind of pot?”

Puschel“A little pot of fat. I heard someone say it's very easy to step into one.”

He lifted one foot and examined its sole.

Puschel“Everything's still dry so far.”

Flauschi was about to ask him more, but Puschel had already bustled into the kitchen. He looked beneath the table and beside the fridge.

Puschel“If somebody's filled a pot with fat, they could at least have put a lid on it.”

Nothing. No pot. Puschel had no luck in the bathroom either. He peered behind the closed laundry basket, then leaned over the edge of the sunken bathtub.

Puschel“Perhaps somebody's rinsed it out.”

Just then Flauschi came in. When she saw Puschel searching, she suddenly understood what was worrying him. She stood beside him.

Flauschi“Puschel, you don't need to look for a pot. It's just a German expression.”

Puschel straightened up.

Puschel“But how can you step into it if it isn't even there?”

Flauschi“It means accidentally saying something awkward that hurts someone's feelings or embarrasses them.”

Puschel looked at his feet.

Puschel“With your mouth?”

Flauschi“Yes.”

Puschel thought for a moment.

Puschel“Then I've been searching with the wrong paws all this time.”

Now Flauschi giggled. They went back to the living room and sat side by side on the sofa.

Flauschi“Imagine I bake a cake and you immediately say it looks like an old sponge.”

Puschel“Even if it does look a little bit like one?”

Flauschi“Then I might feel sad. I'd have worked hard on it.”

Puschel grew quiet.

Puschel“Oh. And what do you do then?”

Flauschi“Say you're sorry. And next time, think first and speak afterwards.”

Puschel nodded slowly.

Puschel“So nobody has to mop the floor?”

Flauschi“No.”

Puschel“And my feet aren't greasy either?”

Flauschi“Not one bit.”

Puschel leaned back with relief. They sat quietly together for a while. Then Puschel noticed Flauschi's slightly tousled forelock.

Puschel“Your hair looks like a—”

He stopped himself.

Flauschi“Like a what?”

Puschel“I'm still thinking. Before I speak, this time.”

Flauschi giggled and smoothed her forelock.