Crash…smash…bang…tinkle…What the…? I lept out of bed and out into the porch, but it was down the stairs. I put on the first pair of shoes I could find, ten year old Merrell sandals. In the racks of trail shoes the first thing that came to hand was a pair of old sandals that I haven’t worn for a two years. Anyway, I was down the stairs and it was a sight of utter carnage. The recycling bin was over, it’s contents strewn everywhere. The plant pots were smashed the earth scattered all over, the screams, oh the screams. And the sight of a screeching fat bastard ginger cat leaping six feet in the air trying to get through the window.
Did I mention this was taking place at 0450 this morning?
I was going to open the window and let it discover two flights worth of gravity, but I ran back up and got a long handled brush instead. The cat may have been pyschotic by nature, but I was now psychotic by choice as Holly had woken all shaking and tearful at the horrendous noise, plus I was taller and had a brush. It was like trying to catch a salmon leaping up a waterfall with a hand held net, probably. But I persuaded it mid-jump half way down the stairs and finally out the door. It wanted me, it wanted me badly. No one had ever spoken to it as I had done. It’ll be thinking hard and regrouping.
I’ll be ready.