Swept from the corners of my mind…
11 pm. I was on the edge of sleep, neither too hot nor too cold. The blanket was comfy. The window was open to appreciate the country stillness. There was a dog or two on the bed but no crowding. I was drifting off to the thought of tomorrow’s travel with my favourite daughter. We would leave at 8:30 so I would even have a full night’s sleep. I turned off the light and began to drift.
A loud squeak Had I dreamed it? The dogs slumbered on. I settle back down. It must have been a waking dream.
There it was again! A loud, prolonged squeak and a scrabbling sound as Stranger, aka FatCat, clawed her way through the open window carrying something wriggling, dark and squealing. I fumbled for the bedside light, my mind filled with images of headless shrews that occasionally ended up gifted on my floor, and the deceased robin I’d found on my bed last week. Oh no. This is NOT happening!
In the soft lamp light, the cat scrabbled between statue-still dogs and jumps to the floor. I zombie out of bed and open the patio door. My plan must have been to shoo them out to the deck using the only thing I had at hand—a bent old flyswatter from the garbage by the bed. I’m not sure. Everything was fuzzy..
FatCat focuses on playing with her guest while I keep trying to flip it out of her paws towards the door. But the handle would bend just as I got it under the large mouse, allowing it to flop back to the floor, where the cat would try to resume play. We dance about the room playing Insane Keep Away. I get the edge of the swatter under the wriggling rodent, she snags it and pulls it towards her.
Eventually Stranger starts getting the upper hand so I up my game, adding a dustpan to help scoop it out of her reach. The cat is winning. Eventually I dive it to scoop and ended up whacking the poor mouse. Between cat germs and smacks it had no hope, so I unalived the victim with one blow. I scoop it up and toss it off the deck in seconds. Then I slam the door, locking it in case she has grown opposable thumbs, yell at the confused cat, and make sure the window is shut tight. Quivering and muttering from the adrenaline of a midnight hunt, I stumble back to my bed.
But was it over? Oh no, my friend! FatCat starts to roam, looking for open windows from which to escape. All the other windows are screened, so she lumbers from room to room knocking things off windowsills and tables seeking an exit. She finally thunders into the bathroom, tries to get out that window, and knocks toothbrushes, hairbrushes, and jewelry down the sink drain or across the floor. Again, I scrabble out of bed, this time to lock her in the bathroom, where she mewed piteously through the night, ten feet from my bed.
I tossed and turned, finally texting my daughter at 2:15 am that I was postponing our trip until 10 am, as I was still wide-awake cursing my oblivious dogs and the over-eager cat. I finally fall asleep at 4, awakening in the morning with a “hunting hangover” from lack of sleep.
Tell me again how pets are good for your blood pressure.
Cathy Bendle finds humor in the quirks of everyday life, from training teachers to dodging housework. When not writing, she’s either laughing at her pets, frantically Googling for her work assignments, or playing on her iPad.
