This is why I’m a dog person.
As many of you may be aware, I’ve been having problems sleeping for months now. Some people would take that as a sign that perhaps they’re too stressed out, or maybe that they should go see a doctor. I’m less stressed about my stress and I’m sure I’ll get back to the doctor at least once before I die… probably so they can official proclaim me legally dead. For now, however, I’m perfectly content to self-medicate with natural supplements, i.e. melatonin – the hormone your body creates to lull you into a deep deep sleep. I call them my “Lunesta Lites”. After taking two of them last night, I found it rather difficult to walk from my couch to my bedroom (a remarkable distance of roughly 10 feet) and rather easy to pass the hell out. That is, of course, until the feral cats started their shenanigans.
At 4am, I woke up to what sounded like Satan raping the Cheshire Cat. I’ve heard cats make noise before, hissing and the like. But this was more like The Hunger Games: Cat Edition, where several dozen angry cats entered my driveway, and only one was going to make it out alive. More than hissing, there was growling, screaming, cat-obscenities, death threats, and banging around noises emanating from the trash cans by where I park my car. And it didn’t stop. For a good 20 minutes. For part of this time I was worried I was going to have a Jurassic Park moment, where half-eaten bodies get smeared against my window. The rest of the time I was just really wishing I owned a gun. While I have yet to walk downstairs to my car since the incident, I fully expect to find several mutilated feline corpses on the hood of my car, with the words “we’ll be back” written in blood on my windshield. On a scale from 1 to punishable by law, how horrible would it be of me to leave a dish of arsenic-laced cat food out by the garbage cans every night?