Last night was one
for the books!
It was bedtime, and
Mummy gave us our midnight snacks (midnight comes early ‘round here), and while
we grazed she stood under the waterfall (AKA Shower) and got drenched, as
parents will do.
After she pronounced
herself squeaky clean, she brushed her teeth (silly Mummy – everyone knows
brushes are for fluffy tails!) and hopped into bed, fully expecting to wriggle
her way in amongst a sea of fuzzy creatures.
Only we weren’t in
the bed!
She called to us but
no one came so naturally she grew suspicious. She slid out from under the
comforter and padded her way toward the bedroom door.
Meanwhile, back in
the kitchen…
Young Mosby and
Morgan, AKA The Brothers Grim, had been scuffling and tussling along the
kitchen floor, stopping every few inches to remove a dust bunny or two from
below the cabinet base. [Side note: Mummy is truly appreciative of our
continued efforts to help clean up. She often remarks on our ability to produce
dust bunnies from nowhere.] Naturally we all sat around and watched to see who
would win this round of sparring, inching ever closer to get the best view.
Well, somewhere along
the fighting path there was this one dust bunny, whom we will call Sherman,
that, on finding himself awakened at such an unfashionable hour and bunged out
of his warm bed, began walking in a rather menacing manner. Now I have seen
dust bunnies jump and roll, flinging themselves carelessly onto the nearest
passerby without batting an eye but never have I seen one stand up erect and
march on eight legs.
Not only did Sherman
begin a brisk gait immediately on finding himself removed from his comfy hiding
place but he also pulled out a sword and began waving it wildly about! He held
it at a funny angle, sort of from behind, but I was convinced nonetheless that
he meant business, and I was not about to question his method or fighting
stance. I figured Sherman knew what worked best for him.
Young Mosby, on the
other paw, decided he wasn’t scared to tackle this armored brute; abandoning
his opponent Morgan for the time being, he marched right up to Sherman and
bopped him on the noggin. Sherman retaliated with a quick jab of his sword,
barely missing Mosby’s foot. I backed off so as to, er, get a better view of
the proceedings and found myself sitting on Mummy’s toes. This startled me not
a little; I must have set a new record for the sitting high jump, raising
myself fully 12 inches from the floor before coming back to terra firma. Or is
that terra cotta?
At any rate,
regardless of where I eventually landed, Mosby continued his noggin-bopping and
Sherman faithfully rebounded with the sword, a sort of give and take, if you
understand my meaning. Like a fine dance routine, if a bit clumsy. Sherman wasn’t
the greatest dancer but I thought it not the best time to point that out; he
seemed in too poor a temper for constructive criticism. Perhaps being oft crowned
by an overgrown kitten had him riled beyond his usual pleasant demeanor.
While all this is
going on, I noticed that Mummy, so far from being interested in the bop-and-jab
routine, began fumbling about in the cabinet below the kitchen sink. It must be
something about the midnight air that makes one desire to explore kitchen
cabinets. However, I get in trouble for that sort of thing. Life is unfair.
Where was I?
Oh, yes, Bop and Jab…
Mosby bounded
forward, bopped, bounded backward, repeated. We continued to watch, from a safe
distance, of course. Only it seemed Sherman was gaining ground and moving
perilously closer to my location. Mummy was still clinking away in the cabinet,
and I grew anxious, sliding closer to her. Sherman was out for vengeance, and
it seemed he was willing to attack anything remotely resembling a cat. It is
times like this when I wish I could hide my tail!
By now, Mosby began to
see that Sherman was serious so that even he decided to back off a bit.
It was this point
that Mummy, The Avenger, stepped in (or up, as she had been squatting), armed
with her anti-spider/ant/scorpion/and anything-that-crawls gun [cleverly disguised
as an aerosol spray can and fondly named Raid]. She deftly swept the battlefield clean of cats and loomed over Sherman,
looking far more menacing than he ever thought to. If he had additional plans
for the evening, they were shot. I could not bear to watch his demise, he
fought so bravely.
It was after the
remains of battle had been swept away and all traces of Mummy’s liquid
ammunition cleaned from the floor that we learned Sherman was a different kind
of dust bunny, known as a Scorpion. We further learned that their swords,
though wielded wildly, give a nasty blow to any who find themselves in their
path so it is best to avoid them. I gave Mosby a knowing look.
I could have told him
there was something not quite right about Dust Bunny Sherman. But kittens will
be kittens, taking risks because they haven’t the good sense to run to Mummy
instead, unlike me.
And Mummy saved the
day.
Three cheers for our Scorpion Queen!
