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The Attack of the Kitten

So I'm lying in bed, drifting in and out of sleep.... You know that blissful second sleep that results from getting up when your alarm goes off and you get out of bed -pretending like you're going to be a functional adult and get shit done with your day. But then when your husband leaves for work, you take your coffee and head back up to bed? No? I can't seriously be the only that does this! I usually make Scott a gourmet breakfast and pack his lunch before he leaves for work, when I know I have no intention of staying up after he leaves. I figure it cancels out the need for some of my guilt. So when the little voice in my head goes *You are LAZY*, I have ammunition. I made Scott's breakfast AND his lunch, so leave me alone asshole.


Second sleep is actually the dog and mine's main bonding time. Once that door closes, we immediately make eye contact and we know it's on. Indi races to find her favourite stuffy, while I fill up my hot water bottle. Then I curl up under the freshly fluffed sheets and she stretches out the length of the bed with her head on Scott's pillow. It's perfect. We have an understanding, and it's a great system. She never tattles on my laziness, and I always lint roller off his pillow so there is no evidence she has been on the bed where she's not supposed to be. It's a win-win for both of us.


Anyways, I am drifting in and out of a BLISSFUL second sleep when I feel the light thump of a kitten landing on the bed. I'm not startled because this is a regular occurrence. She usually works her way cautiously up to me -keeping an eye of the shifty/shady mutt of course- and settles in atop my hip for her post breakfast nap. But as I flipped my pillow over to the cold side (is there anything better?), I couldn't shake the feeling that something was.... off. I ran through my checklist of worries.... the door is locked, the stove was off, the radio volume was set to 6. Hmmmm, odd. Then I realized the problem. The cat was squeaking.


I had visions of the cat hurling up a hairball on the bed and having to wash the new sheets, so I groggily started reaching for the kitten to put her on the floor, with my eyes still half closed. And that's when it happened....


My hand wrapped around a very wet, small AND moving ball of hair. What in the actual FUCK? I whipped my head around and realized I was clutching a very small, soggy, petrified mouse. To say I SHRIEKED is an understatement. And I literally leapt across the room and slammed the door shut behind me. Which I am not really sure how I did that. I am built for comfort, NOT for speed people!


And my mind went into overdrive.


*Okay we need to call Scott NOW* And what on earth could he do for us? He's an hour away! *Well we have to do something!* There is a soggy mouse in my fucking sheets. *Get the gun. We can shoot it* That is by far the STUPIDEST thing I have ever heard. *What about a frying pan?* A frying pan? Seriously. What are you going to do? Play whack a mole? *Do what Scott did the last time the cat caught a mouse in the house. Cover it with the small garbage can from the office and slide a piece of cardboard underneath. It'll work... then take it outside and free it* I like that. No mouse in the house and I get karma points for saving it from the furry psychopath in there.


I ran around the house gathering my supplies like I was preparing for The Purge. I also put shoes on.... because it didn't seem like a barefoot situation.


I barged back into that bedroom with conviction, armed with my garbage can and cardboard. I don't need a man to help me get rid of a mouse. I am a strong, confident woman who can handle her own shit.... Only problem was the damn cat was not interested in giving up the mouse. It was her prized catch and as soon as I approached the bed she stuffed the soggy mouse in her mouth like it was a cheeto.


I was about three minutes into reasoning with the cat to give it up, when it dawned on me. *If the mouse is in the cat’s mouth, take the cat outside and make her drop it* I had no choice, the sanctity of our bedroom was at stake.


I scooped the cat up (mouse in mouth and all) under her shoulders and dangled her at arm's length like sand bag all the way down the stairs. I could feel the cat looking up at me and thinking, "What the FUCK do you think you are you doing?!"


Then we made it outside, and the cat looked up at me like, "What now?" And, THEN it hit me I hadn't actually thought of how I was going to get the cat to drop the mouse once we were outside. And now here we were.... and I had no ideas.


"DROP IT". Nothing.

Shake, "DROP IT". Nothing.

Shake, shake. "DROP IT PLLLLEASE YOU LITTLE PSYCHOPATH". Nothing.

Shake, "DROP IT”. Shake, "DROP IT". Shake, "DROP". Shake, "IT".


Finally, down dropped the soggy grey mouse into the grass. I watched it for moment contemplating if it could have actually survived that whole ordeal. Then suddenly the little mouse came to life, did a full body shake and ran off into the grass.

I pat the cat a few times and thanked her for cooperation, but I don’t think it made much difference. If looks could talk, her’s would have said, “You’re gonna pay for that, bitch”. And now I’m struggling to remember why I love cats so much.



So that was my morning…. How was yours?



Love, Kay







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