Violence on the Homefront

Bridget often wakes me up in the middle of the night with things that aren’t worth waking up for. She’s usually meowing at the mattress or chasing a bug on the window sill or tapping me repeatedly on the shoulder just to whine about being thirsty. I’ve grown accustomed to these slumbertime interruptions, and most of the time I just throw something at her and fall back asleep. A couple of weeks ago, she seemed to be indulging in an extra amount of running around in the dark, but I was drunk on good dreamin’ and couldn’t make myself wake up enough to care.

As I was getting ready for work the next morning, I noticed that Bridget was particularly interested in my closet. I was about to chastise her adorable feline stupidity when I heard it: a faint “scratch scratch/rustle rustle” from behind some shoe boxes. I was mortified. The noises continued, and I while I should have dug through my closet to find the mystery creature, I chose to be girly about it. I left for work promptly, and for Texas right after work; and all weekend long I kept my fingers crossed that the problem would be gone by the time I returned home.

Until 2 days ago, I had seen nor heard any more evidence of rodent residents in my house. (I woke up from a dead sleep at 4:00 one morning when I SWORE I could feel tiny claws on my feet. I practically fell out of bed in blind terror, but found nothing other than my pissed off and confused kitty tangled in the comforter.) Monday morning, I walked into the kitchen and was greeted by a tiny lil’ bitty ol’ mouse. Bridget (like the savage she is) snatched it up between her teeth and attempted to carry it into my room. I blocked her way and shooed her in the other direction. I could see the determined, ravenous panic in her eyes as she tried to decide where to haul her prey. In moment’s flash I pictured my cute baby ripping the little animal to shreds, and the repulsive imagery caused me to take action before a Discovery channel special unfolded in my kitchen. I couldn’t tolerate the thought of her button-nosed innocence being spoiled by a germ ridden Stuart lookalike. Without hesitating, I grabbed her by the scruff of the neck until she dropped the mouse and it ran under our ancient unused dishwasher. Slow with disappointment, Bridget turned and gave me a “thanks a lot, fool” look.

I must say I was a bit ashamed of myself. I’m overprotective of a damn cat. What kind of mother will I be one day? I really don’t want to be overly strict and paranoid. We all know the kind….”If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times….wear your safety goggles when you practice your machete juggling!”…”Honey, wait until you get OUT of the pool to blow dry your hair!”…. ”Jimmy, you better clean that gun before ya fire it!” What a drag. If I ever have kids, they’re gonna hate me, aren’t they?