Things I'm scared of:

- Centipedes, specifically of this variety.

- Heights, specifically of this variety.

- Food poisoning, of any variety.

- Sharks, specifically of this variety.

- David Gest, of any variety.

Among the many things I'm not afraid of is mice and other small rodent-type critters. This is probably good because lately the cats have discovered a horrifying new talent for bringing them into the house.

The first incidence was a month or two ago when I walked in on Stella with a mouthful of bleeding chipmunk. I shrieked, Kenny came running, and Stella dropped the chipmunk which promptly skittered off into the dining room, leaving a tiny trail of splattered blood in it's wake. It made for the furthest corner and vanished. We figured it probably squooze itself through the crack between the baseboard and floor and hopefully found it's way out through the crawl space. We never saw it again.

More recent incident: Two weekends ago I heard a muffled squeaking noise coming from the living room. I walked in to find Stella and Zephyr hovering over a small brown mouse. I grabbed both cats, locked them in the other room, grabbed a shoe box and went to find the mouse. It was gone, daddy. Shit. I got down on my hands and knees to look under furniture; I pulled the couch out from the wall, nothing. I figured it went the way of the chipmunk and had made its way out. Eh, whatever.

Then, the other night Kenny asked me if I smelled something bad in the living room. Oh, damn. He started looking and almost immediately found the mouse SMASHED FLAT UNDER THE LIVING ROOM RUG. Oh dear God. This means that in searching for the mouse, I stomped on it. I SAID GODDAMN. I stayed, cowering, in the other room while he dealt with it because dead things are most definitely filed under Things Husbands Deal With.

I have incurred some serious trauma and never meant to be a murderer of mice. I only wanted to save it! Poor mouse. I fear that its relatives are going to arm themselves with tiny mouse shanks and come jump me in the night. Watch out for the mouse, man, it'll cut you.

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last night after taking a shower I fashioned my newly cut 12-year-old skater punk-style hair into a mohawk and sang Anarchy in the UK to Zephyr, cat style:

I am an AntiCat
And I am a little bit fat
I want some cheese
And I know how to get it
Give me some or you'll regret it!
I. Wanna be. The AntiCat...

See if that doesn't stick in the head really nicely.

**********

That's all I have time for today because my prime journal-writing time was taken up by two bumbling IT people who spent a good hour and a half trying to add a printer to my network. Good lord, people.

The Mail Guy would like you to have a BLESSED FRIDAY. I would like to tell the Mail Guy that I'm a SATANIST.

PS. The Baptist church is having a ping pong tournament on July 25th, just so you know.

Have a good weekend, monkeys!

4 chatty monkeys