Devil Cat and the Big Bad

Recently my house has become the central location of a Mutual of Omaha, Wild Kingdom special, much to the delight of everyone but me. We have a ten year old cat, appropriately named Princess Lightening. She was named this for a combination of reasons. Princess because she has a unique white diamond shape on her forehead, and Lightening because the kids found her when they were in rehearsals for Grease, and of course "Greased Lightening" was very relevant at the time. She's not really a cat though. She is more a permanent kitten. She has always remained small, and mischievous; one of the few reasons I have tolerated being a cat owner all these years. I'm really a dog person. Although in more recent times she shows some signs of slowing-- a little hesitance about jumping from place to place, she still manages to chase her tail every night between ten and eleven, as though she had never seen it before. And she demands the warm place occupied by a laptop, even if she has to roll around on the keyboard while you try to write, sending incomprehensible messages to all your friends.

Over the years she has managed to become quite skilled at entering and exiting the house as well. She learned to knock--something the neighborhood kids still haven't mastered. We have a mail slot on the door so she reaches up and opens it, allowing it to slam shut with a bang. She will continue incessantly doing this until someone finally gives up ignoring her and opens the door. Eventually we put a screen door up to allow for some air movement in the house in summer. At first she would bang the screen door for admittance, however she eventually learned she could just as easily shred the screen and not disturb us any longer. Very considerate of her really. We replaced the lower screen with wood which did absolutely nothing to stop her. Eventually we replaced the torn upper portion with an overlapping screen, so she could climb in and out at will, but we could still block out most of the insect riff-raff. (Do not get me started on June Bugs!) So now the cat has free access in and out at her leisure which is how cats like things. And my family has a new source of cheap entertainment.

It should be no surprise to anyone who has ever owned a cat (except me) that they like to bring you little "gifts." In the past we have been the recipients of some remnants of fresh catches--beaks, feet and feathers; little animal organs; heads; and a giant squirrel tail (bigger than the cat) laid out in presentation on the front porch. Always exciting to step on as you carry groceries into the house--gush. Blech! I'm familiar with the cycle of life, but that doesn't mean I want to see it play out in my front yard. Long and short, she has always been a little hunter and likes to leave us evidence of her loyalty and skill, and always I have under-appreciated the efforts, but lately things have gotten out of control.

Last summer I was walking down the hallway toward the living room and noticed a toy iguana on the dining room floor. The kids will tell you it was a lizard, but anything the length of my arm is an iguana. Now, as I approached it, ready to put it away, my mind began to do a mental tally of toys, and the last time any of my teenagers played with them.....AHHHHHHHH! It blinked right as I was bending over to pick it up. I only touched the floor once on my screaming dash back down the hallway, where I was joined by the one child with any sense, although she was mostly screaming because I had offered her as a sacrifice-- throwing her between me and the lizard on my daring escape. Unfortunately she was left banging on the outside of the bedroom door where I had taken refuge. I just couldn't risk opening it and letting the monster in with her. Cycle of life baby. Sorry. After considering calling 911, I got control of myself and decided to call my husband instead. He was luckily in the car (with my brave sons.) They arrived home shortly, all laughing at me. I don't ask how the lizard left, I assume it involved a broom, but I am told I can't blame the cat, as it may have somehow entered the house on its own. I doubt that, and the thought does little to comfort me. However, it set the stage for the year to follow.

Shortly after that, maybe a few weeks later, I was napping on the sofa and finally decided to yell at whichever one of the kids was making that annoying squeaking sound. Nope. Not a kid. AAAAAAAAHHH! She had dragged a giant live wash-rat into the house and was playing with it. I literally scaled the plaster wall. There are fingernail marks where I clawed my way up and hung like a vampire from the ceiling. Luckily one of those brave, under-appreciated children threw a blanket over the creature and escorted it out. I washed the blanket twice. Since then, the majority of what we have encountered has been post-mortem, until last week.
Last week no one told me we were out of cat food. It was late at night when I discovered the cat hadn't been fed and there was nothing for her. So, being generous I gave her a slice of fresh deli ham. Apparently I wasn't the only one. The next day a piece of leftover, uneaten ham drew a zillion ants (yet another of my dreams come true.) Silly me, I figured she wasn't interested in ham and fed her later that evening when I replaced the cat food. Clearly she has developed a taste for fresh meat. Every day this week has been one gift or another, a few dead things on the doormat -squish, and the remnants of a bird, left I gather as a warning to the rest of them. We have learned if you don't dispose of these remains in a closed trash can, she'll return them for our approval.

Monday I was working at the computer when I heard it, another squeaking mouse. In two seconds flat I was a cartoon character from the 40's dancing on my chair on tippy toes, "eek eek eek." As she saw the rescue crew headed her way she made a move to relocate her captive. It only took a millisecond for me to move my mmmph pound ass up on the back of the sofa, balancing like a tightrope walker and screaming "kill it kill it kill it." I don't particularly know if I meant the cat or the mouse. But I wasn't in the mood for caring. My husband ended up having to kill the poor mouse because they couldn't get it out and the Devil Cat kept getting in the mix. I did not witness any of this though, because I made a break for it the first chance I got and was holed up in my bedroom. They all had a big laugh and told their friends what a chicken I am. Yeah. I'm a riot.

This brings us to yesterday. I am watching the last of a movie with the boys in the living room. I heard it happen. All the neighborhood birds start fluttering about and chirping wildly. I realize one is screaming. In an instant I am up and sprinting toward the open front door yelling "NO NO NO." Everything goes into slow motion like the pinnacle scene in a horror movie, I'm thudding full-bore toward the door, trying to outrun the Devil Cat. Just as I reach it, the door only inches from my fingertips, the cat leaps up onto the screen with the flailing, screeching bird in her mouth. AAAAAAHHHHH! I slammed into the wall, banked off it and ran screaming down the hallway. The first door- bathroom, is closed because someone is in the shower. That's ok..that door is too close to the porch anyway. The next door belongs to my oldest who is fighting me, trying to keep me out of her room. Screw you kid! I pay the rent! Get a hiding place of your own. Again, everyone is laughing at Mom. Silly Mom. Scared of a little cat, a little mouse, and a little bird.

When all the action is over, and the bird is disposed of in some way (I don't want to know) my husband finally asks me: what exactly I'm afraid of, what do I think is going to happen? To be perfectly honest, I have no idea. In most cases, my fight or flight instinct leans hard toward fight. I'm no stranger to difficulty. I've had some tough stuff happen to me. I've seen some ugly in my days. I lived a rough childhood. I've triumphed over it all. So what am I afraid of? Maybe I've just seen one too many comedy films where a woman gets a live bird stuck in her hair. Maybe I'm afraid that mouse will run up my leg in its attempt to escape. Maybe my vivid imagination doesn't need to conceive of an ending to know it won't be good. Maybe I just need to freak out at the little stuff, because I can't freak out at the Big-Bads. Yes. When a bee flew into my car I swerved, carefully, to the side of the road and bailed out, waiting with all the doors and windows open for the bee to die or move on. But when the firemen tromped through my living room to claim my husband during his second heart attack I had the wherewithal to gratefully notice they didn't track mud in from the rain as I gathered all the necessary items for another long ER visit.

Every bloody child emergency has been met with courage and calm. Hold their hands while they get stitched. Smile and a joke. Throw up in the hallway when they can't see you. Look into their terrified eyes and tell them everything is fine, even though you know you feel the same way they do. Drive them to visit Daddy in the hospital after the second stroke and tell them everything is ok. Daddy will be just fine, even though you can't believe he's still alive after all this. Here. Here is some Fibromyalgia, some Cancer and a little pituitary damage for yourself. Don't forget we want to hook you up to an IV every week for a year. We know how much you enjoy needles. Just smile and tell everyone you're fine. Nope. Not worried at all. Suddenly homeless? Just move six people into one room at the in-laws house for a year or two. Easy-peasy. A child with scoliosis and a full body brace? Check. One with a painful autoimmune that makes her skin swell till it bleeds? Learning disabilities too? Awesome. Someone hurts your kid? Almost lose one at birth? Oh here, don't forget being a teenage pregnancy. Got Mommy issues? Me too. Plenty. Some even unresolved. But plaster a smile on your face. Take a deep breath and barrel ahead. Whatever happens, you'll manage and drag the rest of them through it with you. Safe and sound on the other side. It's called Motherhood. It's what we do. It's when we are at our finest. So I freak out at the Wild Kingdom unfolding in my living room. That's ok. Laugh at me. I can take it. I've seen worse. Now if the cat would just stop looking at me with that stupid "I got your number" grin, I'll be fine. Honest. I'm fine.