Really, Cat?
I’ll give you an example: the older I get, the more of a wuss I become. I’m not proud of it. I don’t know how to change it. But it’s a fact: I have become one of those annoying urban princess-ish squealie types when confronted by little critters. Today is a prime example. I was in bed, eyes closed, allowing myself to wake up to the day gently and all I could hear is the playful little jingle of Zuri’s bell. At first it made me smile - but then (swiftly) that smile became a line of concern as questions whirled around my not - so- fully- awake yet brain
1: Zuri never comes into the bedroom in the morning. In fact, once I let her out in the morning, she high tails it out if there like a parolee after serving an unjust prison sentence.
2: if … and this is a BIG if, she actually did want another cuddle, she could just hop back on to the bed and not dance around the room unless…
And that’s when it hits me! Unless she is NOT ALONE.
Bracing myself, I peer over the bed. Yes, Zuri is dancing around the room like a prima ballerina on pointed toes and in her paws, or occasionally up in the air, and then manically running around on the bedroom floor in a death Tango with my cat, is a mouse.
I can’t call for help - the kids left for school 5 mins ago and Clive to his office (I’d planned on having a sneaky mid- week lie in till 8:30). But it’s ok - I’ve got this! Thank goodness for technology- I will call Clive and get him to come and rescue me. At this stage I am vaguely aware of the fact that I am becoming a wuss, but I push this thought aside as I tell myself that Clive probably will enjoy the opportunity to be the hero… after all, it’s not often he gets the chance to come in like a knight in shining armour to rescue the damsel in distress so actually, I’m doing him a favour.
Hmmm. No phone. I’ve left it downstairs overnight. Thinking about my next move, I’m aware that the bell jingle has upped in tempo and this cat- mouse tango is fast spiralling into a dervish … and then it happens.
All hell breaks loose. Zuri tries to bring her mouse into the bed! Up she hops with that feral gleam in her eye and a fat, twitching mouse clamped between her jaws, its head lolling one side and its tail drooping out the other. I freeze and start to issue firm instructions like Sit! Stay! Which even as I say them, I know she will ignore – even the dogs don’t always listen, and they are much easier to train. She starts to stalk her way up the bed towards me and for a second, I am actually tempted to dropkick her like a rugby ball off the bed. Thankfully, she drops it before I a forced to make that choice and it scurries into Clive’s cupboard with Zuri flying after it. I have to escape, and this is my only chance. I fly out of my room (who says I can’t move like a gazelle when I want to?) and bullet downstairs to fetch Clive. I may have saved myself (strike 1 for gender equality) but damn it- that mouse still needs catching and or removing…
Actually, to pot with “Gender Equality”. This is a man’s job. Just like being the only one out of our partnership to be able to see dust, and remove it, is a woman’s job. So, I continue my race to the office. And then I stop.
You see it’s Wednesday. Clive has an important weekly video conference and I am dressed only in a faded, stretched out of shape Garfield Tee and my pants - I would normally leave this part out but it’s an important fact- so I grab what I can. My winter puffer coat. Dressed, or at least decent, I continue to the office only to find Clive in full presentation mode.
To my credit, I did pause for a second but what the hell, emergencies are emergencies and THERE IS A MOUSE POSSIBLY BLEEDING OUT IN THE CUPBOARD. So, I swallow my pride, interrupt the meeting, and insist on being saved. NOW.
And that, ladies, and gentlemen, is how at 9:02 I am still only dressed in a coat, mismatched socks (they were all I could scavenge from the pile of laundry on the kitchen floor waiting to be washed) and on the hard stuff. No gently brewed Earl Grey for me this morning … nope, it’s a full caff (is that the opposite of decaf?) Kenyan Roast Espresso blend that could power a jet kind of morning.
Have a happy Saturday everyone ❤️❤️❤️
1: Zuri never comes into the bedroom in the morning. In fact, once I let her out in the morning, she high tails it out if there like a parolee after serving an unjust prison sentence.
2: if … and this is a BIG if, she actually did want another cuddle, she could just hop back on to the bed and not dance around the room unless…
And that’s when it hits me! Unless she is NOT ALONE.
Bracing myself, I peer over the bed. Yes, Zuri is dancing around the room like a prima ballerina on pointed toes and in her paws, or occasionally up in the air, and then manically running around on the bedroom floor in a death Tango with my cat, is a mouse.
I can’t call for help - the kids left for school 5 mins ago and Clive to his office (I’d planned on having a sneaky mid- week lie in till 8:30). But it’s ok - I’ve got this! Thank goodness for technology- I will call Clive and get him to come and rescue me. At this stage I am vaguely aware of the fact that I am becoming a wuss, but I push this thought aside as I tell myself that Clive probably will enjoy the opportunity to be the hero… after all, it’s not often he gets the chance to come in like a knight in shining armour to rescue the damsel in distress so actually, I’m doing him a favour.
Hmmm. No phone. I’ve left it downstairs overnight. Thinking about my next move, I’m aware that the bell jingle has upped in tempo and this cat- mouse tango is fast spiralling into a dervish … and then it happens.
All hell breaks loose. Zuri tries to bring her mouse into the bed! Up she hops with that feral gleam in her eye and a fat, twitching mouse clamped between her jaws, its head lolling one side and its tail drooping out the other. I freeze and start to issue firm instructions like Sit! Stay! Which even as I say them, I know she will ignore – even the dogs don’t always listen, and they are much easier to train. She starts to stalk her way up the bed towards me and for a second, I am actually tempted to dropkick her like a rugby ball off the bed. Thankfully, she drops it before I a forced to make that choice and it scurries into Clive’s cupboard with Zuri flying after it. I have to escape, and this is my only chance. I fly out of my room (who says I can’t move like a gazelle when I want to?) and bullet downstairs to fetch Clive. I may have saved myself (strike 1 for gender equality) but damn it- that mouse still needs catching and or removing…
Actually, to pot with “Gender Equality”. This is a man’s job. Just like being the only one out of our partnership to be able to see dust, and remove it, is a woman’s job. So, I continue my race to the office. And then I stop.
You see it’s Wednesday. Clive has an important weekly video conference and I am dressed only in a faded, stretched out of shape Garfield Tee and my pants - I would normally leave this part out but it’s an important fact- so I grab what I can. My winter puffer coat. Dressed, or at least decent, I continue to the office only to find Clive in full presentation mode.
To my credit, I did pause for a second but what the hell, emergencies are emergencies and THERE IS A MOUSE POSSIBLY BLEEDING OUT IN THE CUPBOARD. So, I swallow my pride, interrupt the meeting, and insist on being saved. NOW.
And that, ladies, and gentlemen, is how at 9:02 I am still only dressed in a coat, mismatched socks (they were all I could scavenge from the pile of laundry on the kitchen floor waiting to be washed) and on the hard stuff. No gently brewed Earl Grey for me this morning … nope, it’s a full caff (is that the opposite of decaf?) Kenyan Roast Espresso blend that could power a jet kind of morning.
Have a happy Saturday everyone ❤️❤️❤️
31 Aug, 2024
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