Cat People are Masochists

So, Remy and her mom went to go get some Christmas decorations and another little tree, and, I’m sure, whatever else she can find to spend the money I gave her (“Dad, I need $100 to go shopping!”), and I’m sitting in my office alone with Rio doing some work. Actually, my office is basically a GI Joe sorting factory, where I piece together this ridiculously large collection. Yes, these are toys. Yes, I am almost 40.

Anyhow, I hear a weird noise coming from what I assumed was the kitchen. I get up, because it sounds like someone is trying to get in the door. I grab my revolver off my desk and slowly head down the hallway in the dark. It’s eerily silent in the house, when I hear a light tapping. Like someone was running their fingers against the window pane.

My heart begins to beat faster, and I switch from “curious” to “ready,” moving my body to the other side of the hall, going against the wall, to adjust for me being right-handed and wanted the broader range to fire, in case someone was there. I then heard footsteps on the tile by the back door which leads into the living room and towards the kitchen.

I thought to myself, “shit, there’s really an intruder.” I crouch a little lower, and bark out, “I have a gun!” I was trying to sound mean, but really I might have peed a little just then. Then frantic footsteps went crashing through the living room. I was standing in the hallway, getting ready to enter the kitchen it leads to the living room, which leads to my room, then loops back around to the master bath, office, and right behind me in the hallway. I didn’t know if there was one or more people there, and from the sound of the footsteps, they were heading through my room and coming around behind me.

I really, honest to God, thought that I was getting ready to be attacked from behind. If I ran to the left, I could get out the front door but if there was an armed person there, I would never get the door open before they shot me. There’s basically a straight line from the living room, through the kitchen and formal dining room, to the front door. It would be stupid to turn my back and expose myself to that danger. So, I did the only thing I could do. I said a very quick prayer, and busted around the corner into the kitchen. I could hear someone crashing through my office, and knew I had to go. I honestly did not know what was about to happen. All of the lights were off, there was a glow from the TV illuminating a little bit, and the office light was on. I didn’t want to turn on a light and give away my position. So it’s really, like, butt-puckering dark in here too.

You ever have those times when you’re so scared and tense about something, and then you face it, and at first, you’re even more scared, because you faced it, but then there’s a relief because you realize there’s no one with a gun there, but then you see a dark figure standing there and freak THE EFF OUT, because it’s a short, hooded, dark figure, in a dark room, then you realize it’s your daughter’s Darth Vader that you almost unloaded a .38 special into, so your heart like hits the brakes from the adrenaline rush, but then your dog, who was spooked by your cat (the cat was making the window scratching noises), was the one barreling a full circle through the house (the crashing noises), comes crashing around behind you, also in the dark, and apparently assumes that Vader is attaching you and slams into both of you (I didn’t realize it was my dog at first either–I thought a Jabberwocky was attempting to kill me), and everything goes crashing to the floor and my gun flew into the other room and Darth Vader hits me in the face and I can feel my nose start to bleed and then Rio, who has anxiety problems already, is flailing about like he’s having a seizure and head butts me, and then steps all over my twigs and berries and I lurch forward, hitting my head on the dishwasher. And then I just lay there, and through the glow of the TV, I can just make out that bastard cat that started all this, just sitting in the window sill, tail just swaying back and forth and, I assume smiling.

Here is Darth Vader. After I cried a little and maybe changed my shorts, I put him back up where he was. I’m hoping to share my experience with the six year old that made my heart attack possible.

PS is anyone looking for a cat?