At least it wasn’t a horse’s head

No, I do NOT want to play with your balls of string
I woke up in the small hours of Monday morning with a feeling that something was wrong. The sense of wrongness was subtle, but pervasive, so I rolled over to turn on the bedside light…

…and something moved near my feet.

I leaped out of bed so quickly that I gave myself friction burns from the duvet.

“Meeeuuw?” said my uninvited guest.
“Glaaargh! Cat! Whatthefuuuuhck?” I responded. Articulate as ever.

Having satisfied myself that I had not, in fact, soiled my pyjama bottoms, I summarily ejected the ginger interloper from the flat and returned to bed, muttering darkly. Perhaps my actions seem harsh, but when I retire for the evening, I generally don’t expect to be harassed by anything larger than a mosquito.

I’m fond of cats, but I’m not prepared to share my bed with just any old pussy that shows up demanding snuggle time. I have standards.


20 thoughts on “At least it wasn’t a horse’s head

  1. That cat looks awfully familiar. I hope Teva didn’t get out, hop a flight to New York, catch a connection to Dakar, continue on to Cape Town, hitchhike to your home, break in and make herself comfortable. My other cat would miss her.


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