for the last week i’ve been the proud owner of a cat.

mint grey in color, pillow fluffy in make.

she won’t tell me her name, but without invading her person i sense she’s a she.

you know that sense?

you feel it when you choose your first summer peach, discerning the sweetest, juiciest of the crop.

or when you just KNOW your barista is going to mess up your order.

my brother and i made this assumption years before with a cat, bridgette.

found at the stables we raised that baby kitten into a grown lady, nuturing her to her first adult vet appointment.

whereupon dr. watson showed me first, and i pray last, cat testical.

alas, bridgette became “hans”.

but back to my minty grey feline. our escapades are harrowing and white-knuckled;

mostly involving me saving her from calamity and harm.

last night my cat dangled herself between two spindles of a staircase, whose height kept getting higher off the ground the longer it took for me to save her.

her sweet little head would just about wedge free, until she’d kick up her leg, start to fall again, and the staircase would grow steeper away from the cold, tiled, kitten-splatting floor.

where is the mad hatter when i need him.

the night before my crazy cat leashed herself to me and we went for a stroll on the highway.

the 80’s atari game FROGGER is still embedded in my brain.

as always with our adventures i am able to save my furry friend.

and thank god, i wake up.

i rarely have repetitive dreams, and frankly i’m not a fan.

especially with a cat. no offense to my kitten-caring friends;

i’m just an all dog kind of girl.

so scat cat!

go chase someone else’s mice.

i much prefer my ohshitmyeconfinalistodayineverwenttoclassandiamnotgoingtograduatefromcollegenow nightmare instead.