The Minor Inconvenience of Arthur's Plumbing

Arthur considered the dripping faucet. Not a torrent, merely a persistent, rhythmic 'plink-plink' that had started sometime between Tuesday and the collapse of the Ottoman Empire. He retrieved his toolbox, which was more of a decorative hamper filled with tools he'd acquired for specific, long-forgotten emergencies. The wrench, it turned out, was less for tightening and more for artfully disassembling. With a gentle twist, the entire pipe decided to express its long-held grievances in a gush of lukewarm water. Arthur watched, unblinkingly, as the kitchen floor transformed into a shallow, indoor pond. His cat, Mittens, a creature of precise calculations, tested the water with a paw before deciding this was undoubtedly a dog's problem. "Well," Arthur mused, stepping carefully over a floating sponge, "that's certainly inconvenient. I had planned to iron my socks this evening." The water level continued to rise, lapping softly at the refrigerator. "And the electrical bill," he added, more to himself than the now-submerged appliances, "will be quite something." He then walked calmly to the living room, retrieved a fishing rod, and sat by the edge of the kitchen, casting a line into the rising tide. "Might as well make the most of it," he muttered, adjusting his imaginary bait. "Though I do wish I had remembered to buy more worms."