It's still dark. Suki's had her milk. Ra is on his "dawn patrol" scanning the windows for his nemisis "Pumpkin," the marmalade tabby that slaps at our windows with her grubby little paws to tease and rile him up. She also likes to run across my car leaving her muddy pawprints on the hood and convertible top.
Pumpkin is on my hit list of feline felons.
In one dream I think of knocking Pumpkin into next week at 45 mph and then backing up for the coup de smash. In another, I'm in the Cat Olympics and I'm about to set the world's record in the Cat Tail Toss, where I grab Pumpkin by the tail and whip her around in circles ten times before releasing her like a fur-discus.
Other times I have thought of launching Pumpkin from a cat-apult into a wood chipper at a distance of 250 yards.
I find all this dreaming about speeding Pumpkin's planetary exit a bit troubling, because I really do love cats. Woody, my late great Lion of the North and his pal, Ra are on my screen saver. Suki has become my companion kitty, purring contentedly on my lap or chairback when I'm reading or crossword puzzling. Suki's sitting quietly at my elbow watching my fingers dance over the keyboard at this very moment.
I really do love cats, and I think cats love me...but, Pumpkin, may be the exception the proves the rule.
It's now about 06:45, all is quiet on the western front.
Birk, Commonsensetarian, Citizen of the Republic, Mob of One, Sage in the Snuggie
PS: Do you think that Pumpkin deams of offing me too?
The only reason I'm wondering about that is because I saw her scurry out from under The Red Baby (my 1989 Mercedes-Benz 560SL) the other day.
Next thing I knew, on my way to work, the ABS brake warning light went on.
Or, could it be a cat-made mantastrophe in the making?