Can you hear it? Floaty strains from The Godfather theme song? There’s beauty trembling with fear in each note. Who’s going to die in some bloody horrible way just as s/he lets fly with a snarky one-liner or haughty “go to hell†laugh? I mention this because I think our cat, Pudgy, is in the mob. And not just in the mob, but like the Don of the family.  I know midlife can make one crazy, but not about this.
I can’t prove it, so even as I write this I’m glancing over my shoulder. She might be watching. Cat revenge is not a pretty thing, and always looks like an accident. For instance, she just happens to weave between my feet as I’m going down the stairs with a laundry basket in front of me? I don’t think so. I get the surprised look when I make it down in one piece. Whaaaat? You nearly fell? You should be more careful. Mwahahahahah.
One reason I believe I’m on Pudgy’s hit list is that I occasionally leave the house. This is not okay with Don Pudgy even though she sleeps 23 hours a day. What if she needs a snack and I’m gone? Not cool.
There was the time she waited until I walked into the bedroom and then while giving me full eye contact; she pee’d in my suitcase. When I let loose with, “NOOOOOOO!†she hissed at me. Yeah. Pissed on and pissed at, in one fell swoop.
I’ve also noticed that on the rare occasion a mouse bumbles around our house, Pudgy seems to have a deal worked out. The mouse is invisible. I can see it, but Pudgy doesn’t. It can be right in front of her face, and she looks at me with a what mouse? You’re midlife crazy! expression.  My guess is that as long as the mouse pays some kind of hush money—maybe chewing through an electrical cord that will eventually fall in my bathtub—Pudgy gives it a pass.
I’ll share one more piece of evidence, but time is running out before she checks on what I’m doing on my computer. If she doesn’t like what she sees, she walks over the keyboard and stands on the delete key. Okay, here it is…
Pudgy has a well-worn stuffed-toy hedgehog. She ripped one of its little legs off long ago in a tussle and takes pleasure in the assortment of cotton threads hanging like bloodless veins from the resulting hole. I keep the hedgehog upstairs near our bedroom for those times she wants to bite my ankles. I substitute the hedgehog for my limb, and she mostly agrees to the scapegoat as long as I pay tribute to her wily ways. However, on those aforementioned days when I leave the house without permission, I come home to find the hedgehog lying near the kitchen door. It’s very much like the horsehead the Godfather left in the bed. A warning that things are not going to go well should I continue in my ways? I think so.
Leave Again And You’re The Next To Die…
So, my friends, if I turn up dead, suspiciously dead, look for paw prints near my body. Listen for strains of The Godfather theme song. And don’t believe Pudgy’s innocent face. Don Pudgy could come after you next.
Laughing because of our pets? The best part of my day.
Tell me about your pets. Does one, or more, seem to be plotting your demise?
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