My Cat Tried to Kill Me

"Yes, Officer, a serious attempt was made on my life this morning."

"What happened?"

"I was attacked in my bathroom. He knocked me into the bathtub, but I managed to not hit my head or pull the shower curtain off its rings. It was pretty scary. I have a boo-boo on my elbow."

"What did he look like?"

"Short, lots of black hair, gold eyes, four legs and a tail."

"A tail?"

"Yes. A tail. And I'll never forget his voice, either. I don't know what he was saying, but his tone was very threatening. I think he was demanding food or something."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, as soon as my feet flew out from beneath me, he fled. Like most evil villains, he didn't stick around to make sure I was dead."

"Were there any witnesses?"

"Jake was on the bed and saw everything, but I don't think you'll be able to get him to make a statement. He's very close-mouthed around cops, especially after he was arrested with a bunch of others and thrown in a tiny cell until I paid his bail."

Policeman closes his notebook and tucks his pen back in his pocket.

"Ma'am, there's really nothing more I can do here. Perhaps you should call a psychiatrist."

(Yes, Izzy really did trip me and knock me into the bathtub this morning, telling the story this way was just more fun.)

Lock up the Wildlife, Izzy's on the Loose

I'm thinking of changing Izzy's name to Dexter. Or maybe Ted Bundy.

That danged cat lives a double life. Most of the time he's so sweet and cuddly he'll knock you over for want of a snuggle. Then there's the feral hunter side that has already been well documented on this blog.

For a few days there's been a smell in the house. I couldn't figure out what it was, nor could I find it. At first, it was one of those elusive smells, just catching a hint of it. Then it grew a little stronger. I changed the litter box, carried out the garbage, searched around. Cleaned out the fridge and dumped everything that was over a month old. (Unfortunately, that was more than half the fridge's contents!) Last night I moved the couch just to see if there was a dead mouse stashed under there.

And yet, I couldn't find the source.

This afternoon I walked in the front door and was slammed in the sinuses by the noxious odor. It was an odor so foul you could almost taste it. It grabbed me by the nose and dragged me right to its source. There, on the floor of my craft room, lay the severed head of a squirrel.

I'll let that image sink in. Be grateful I didn't take pictures.

Decapitated. Squirrel. Head. In my house. Not a pretty sight. Poor little thing was probably out innocently burying his nuts for the winter when he was attacked. Probably never saw it coming.

Once I finished my gross-out dance and conquered the urge to vomit, I opened the window, donned a pair of rubber gloves, and tossed the thing out into the yard. I wanted to toss the rubber gloves out after it. And maybe the carpet, too! Grabbed carpet spray and saturated the area.

But, you're asking, how could you have missed that thing lying in the floor? I didn't. I swear. I had looked in every room, even under the beds, tables, and chairs trying to find the source of that smell. I think the evil little cat moved it out into the open yesterday while I was at work!

With the windows and doors opened, and the source of the smell removed, the house was habitable again.

All three cats met me in the kitchen, and thus began the following lecture:

"I feed you three plenty of food twice a day! There is NO REASON at all for you to go out and catch your own! NO MORE HUNTING! NO MORE BRINGING ANYTHING INTO THE HOUSE!! STOP DOING SUCH GROSS STUFF! IT'S DISGUSTING!"

All three just sat there in silence, watching the crazy lady rant in a language they couldn't understand.

All three got the lecture, but it was aimed at just one. He knows who he is.

(Here he is on top of the patio roof, looking for his next victim.)

RIP Jack Rabbit

Despite the morning bunny races, today is also a sad day around here. I watch the buns playing in the yard and think about Jack. Today's his bunny funeral.

He slipped into the neighbor's yard Wednesday and was attacked by their dog. I don't blame the poor dog, he was in her yard and she was just doing what dogs do. The rain had washed away the dirt beneath the fence at a low spot in the yard and that's how he got out. The neighbor was kind enough to bring him home and put him back in the pen while I was at work.

Jack held on until Thursday night when he suffered a seizure and died. But thanks to the rain all the rain we've been getting, the yard is currently under water, so I couldn't bury him yesterday. So what to do with a deceased bunny? I did what any morgue does and refrigerated him.

Yes. I have my dead pet bunny in the refrigerator next to the milk. It would have been the freezer, but I didn't have room.

So weird.

Thankfully the water level in the backyard has gone down and the weather is predicted to be nice, so I can bury him today. The grumpy little lump of bun will be missed.

Go, Go Speed Bunny

How fast can a rabbit run? Evidently pretty danged fast. I've been watching Sophie run laps around the yard for the last several minutes. That rabbit food must be enhanced with pep pills. Every once in a while she'll get one of the others in on it by chasing them.