The salt shaker has vanished.  It didn’t leave a note or even a telltale ring where it was on top of the stove.  My current theory is that my kitchen is mad at me for not using it for the last few weeks and ate my salt shaker to teach me a lesson.

I have just spent the last half an hour searching for it.  It isn’t in the fridge or the freezer.  It’s not in my liquor cabinet or the hall closet.  It’s not on the balcony or on any of my book shelves.  I’d blame the pigeons, but that probably won’t improve our tenuous relationship.

The lost salt shaker has joined that one shoe I used to love, numerous socks, my sanity, the plot, and that little stuffed toy rabbit I liked to chew on as a child.

I miss the salt shaker.

**

Update:

It has been found!  In an effort to ward off the aporkalypse a few weeks ago, I started religiously gargling with salt water.  And then I got lazy, as I do, and abandoned the regime.  And apparently, my final act before giving in to complete lethargy was to put the salt shaker in the medicine cabinet.  Because that seemed like a good place to keep it.  Unlike the kitchen which is two metres away.  And has a spot specifically for the salt shaker.

Poor little guy.  I hope the other things in the cabinet were nice to him.