Anyone who’s a regular reader of this blog may be familiar with my nighttime adventures. If not, check out this one.
Well, it happened again. To be fair, it wasn’t the Wife this time. In fact, hell, she was of no help whatsoever. But we’ll get to that.
Again, I’ll ask you to indulge me and picture the scene. It’s 5:30 am, everyone is sleeping soundly, all is quiet.
And then, I’m pulled from sleep by…sounds. A skittering. Thumping. Noises that sound like shhhhhhk shhhhhhk shhhhhhk shhhhhhk along with pounding that slides from one side of the house to the other like those old stereo test tracks where the sound moves back and forth, back and forth.
And over all of this cacaphony, a hissing, flapping noise, as though from a crazed, spitting bird. Though, with the other sounds added in, the bird I pictured was more Pterodactyl than anything.
You have to remember, all of the above sensory input was fed to my sleep-sodden mind in the span of perhaps two or three seconds. I’m not even close to theorizing what the hell it is at this point, though if I’d been forced to guess, I would have likely gone with a monkey and a snake fighting over a bird.
So, I pulled back the covers and got one leg to the floor when I realized that monster ball of sound was getting louder. The hissing skittering thumping shhhhhhking was coming up the stairs.
Like, supersonic fast.
I didn’t have much more than maybe another second before some creature spawned from hell exploded into the room and, from the door, launched itself into the air, rocketing completely over the bed, looking for all the world like the cover of Meat Loaf’s Bat Out Of Hell album.
He completely gapped the bed and landed on the far side. The Wife’s side.
Well, okay, that’s not bad. If some Satanspawn is going to start feeding, at least he’ll start with the Wife and I have a head start down the stairs. It’s like that old chestnut about you and a friend getting attacked by a bear. You don’t have to run fast, just faster than your friend.
Or, in this case, faster than, you know…my wife.
So, with that false sense of security tucked in my back pocket, I finished getting out of bed and crept around to the far side of the bed. And I finally looked upon my nemesis.
My stupid cat. But not just going on one of his usual nightly tears. No, no. This time he’d done it up right.
Earlier in the evening, I’d picked up some groceries and had forgotten to take in a shopping bag with me, so I’d had to purchase one. When I got home, I’d put the groceries away.
Apparently I didn’t dispose of the bag adequately.
Because now the damn thing was wrapped around my stupid cat. The little holes they have as handles? Yeah, okay, somehow, he’d manage to worm his way into that hole and it had worked it’s way down to just in front of his rear legs.
So, for all intents and purposes, my cat was screaming around the house with a plastic tutu on.
I was able to trap him by the bed and get the bag off him and, in true cat fashion, as soon as it was off, he got up, looked at me, looked at the bag, and walked away like, yeah, kicked that bitch’s ass, didn’t I?
Meanwhile, the Wife and the Boy? Yeah, they both slept through the whole damn show. Nice to know the Devil himself could show up in our room riding a Harley from Hell and they’d sleep through it. Makes me feel safe. Secure.
I can only guess that this is also the reason my other cat has refused to even consider coming up to the main floor all day, instead preferring to sit on the edge of my desk and keep a constant, expectant watch on the stairs.
As though perhaps some crazed, tutu-wearing cat out of hell may come shredding down the stairs to take his little kitty soul down to hell.
Really, can you blame him?