I’m old enough to now preface some stories of mine with me saying “Years ago…” Which, obviously means I have amassed enough fodder for laughs to keep my little bloggy going for some time now…. And I love to tell a good story.
So, years ago, when Dan and I first moved in together, waaaaaaaaaaaaaay back in the mid 90’s, we got ourselves two kitties. Tika and Silky. They were very sweet, they were loved and doted upon, they drove us crazy, they were our babies… You know, before we had actual human babies.
One night, as we lay in bed, drooling and snoring away, completely oblivious to the night prowlings of our feline friends, I became aware of some odd sound. A sound that I couldn’t immediately identify. See, I was in the midst of a dream, so struggling my way out of dreamland into conciousness only added to the confusion of what was about to happen to me.
The sound I speak of was a squeaky sound.
The sound that, oh say, a mouse might make.
I woke, disoriented, to find my black cat Silky sitting on my chest. I was all “Umph… Uuuuuuhhhhhhhhh….” and was SHOCKED, and also very DISMAYED to see, by the moonlit night casting a dim cool glow in our bedroom that she had a live mouse in her mouth.
Yep. I said it. A live mouse.
And, oh, my dears….. That isn’t the worst of it…..
She saw I was awake and proceeded to spit the live mouse onto my chest. Where it squiggled and squeaked and scurried upon my naked flesh.
I shrieked, and threw the blanket off of me, which included the mouse and my cat.
Thud went the cat, and thump went the mouse, after flying through the air and hitting the wall. The mouse went running, the cat went chasing and I was left, wide awake at 2 AM, wondering if there was any form of psychotherapy that handled this kind of shit.
And Dan….. My sweet, oblivious, comatose man….. Well, he kept on snoring and drooling and dreaming away. I really wanted to punch him for not being remotely aware of the trauma I had just endured….