So this morning, as per usual, I came stumbling down the stairs in search of coffee before I started breakfast. I got the kids settled in front of a cartoon with their milk so could have a fair chance at making the scrambled eggs without small bodies between me and the stove.
While getting the boys tucked into their la-z-boy recliners, I noticed that one of the cats had chewed on their favorite catnip-laced fabric mouse toy and then, of course, yakked on the carpet. Beautiful start to the day.
Because I have developed a strict "No Cleaning Of Cat Vomit Before Coffee" policy, I trudged back upstairs to gulp down a cuppa and got the scrambled eggs cooked. Then I called the boys up for breakfast and got them set up at the table with their plates.
Finally, it was the moment of truth. Paper towels in-hand, I bravely marched down to face the inevitable. Oh how full of tragic bravado was I; Napolean facing my own personal Waterloo, with no inkling of the impending Doom.
I found myself standing over mouse toy and vomit puddle thinking "I really need to ask for a raise". Then, I kneeled down and prepared to face the task at hand.
Oh, my friends. There is nothing quite like the slow-motion realization that what you are looking at is not at all what you first assumed. That it is, in fact, much much worse.
You see, it was not, in fact, the well-loved mouse toy there on the ground. Oh no, it was not.
Instead, I came face to face with the half-eaten corpose of an honest-to-god rodent. The feet were entirely chewed away, and one dead eye stared pitifully up at me below the gorey hole where once the poor creature's brain resided.
Yes, apparently one of my cats is a zombie; it had consumed the mouse's brain with surgical accuracy.
Oh! But wait! What is this? Here - just visible in the mess of regurgitated cat kibble? Why, it's a bit of recognizable brain matter. Mouse brains a la vomit, right here on my family room carpet. Isn't that just lovely.
There are many reasons I got married. Today, the top of the list is having someone else around to cope with partially-digested brain matter. This is so not in my job description.
Why, Yes, I AM a big pansy, and thank you for noticing.
Monday? Oh, it is SO on. You can meet my at the bike racks after school, because I am going to kick you into next Friday - and Friday is big and burly and grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin. Friday is going to do things to you that they haven't even thought of at Gitmo yet, things that would make Dick Cheney shudder with horror.
What's that, Monday? Oh, you're sorry about the mouse brains? Yeah. Right. Sure you are. You're just saying that now because you know your hours are numbered. Wait, what now? You'll bring my husband home the next time you roll around? Don't toy with me Monday. I will cut you.
Okay, stop crying. Sersiously, STOP, you're giving me a migraine.
You swear you'll get Big Daddy T home next time? Next Monday will bring him home, in time for a few days of quiet before Thanksgiving? You're willing to swear it?
Okay, Monday. I'll give you one chance to make this right. You get him back here to me and the boys, and we'll forget this whole dead mouse/mouse brains in the kitty vomit incident. Like it never happened.
Oh, and Monday? Just remember - you screw me on this? It won't be just Friday who's got my back. There are 5 other days of the week, and you don't wanna know why they call Wednesday"Hump Day".
2 comments:
Oh God, the cat who leaves "presents". As a kid, I went into our garage and found a squirrel tail, and a perfectly preserved pile of innards. No skin, bones, claws, teeth. Just the innards. And the tail, which is apparently too fuzzy to eat. Ick.
OMG - I'm rolling. People at work are starting to stare and wonder why I'm laughing so hard.
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