Killer Queen

My cat is a psychotic killer.

Sunday, Bek and I drove back in Montréal after celebrating Thanksgiving in Ontario with our fam-a-lams. We spent 7 hours in the car in the midst of a cold blooded murder machine and we had NO IDEA. (To his credit, he did a good job of whining pitifully for 75% of the trip, scaling the head rests and sleeping for the remaining 25%. Crafty as.)

When we arrived safe and unscathed back in our apartment, I went to put on my moccasins. As I picked them up, I spotted something odd on the floor. My first thought was one of those tumbleweeds of hair and fluff that seems to accumulate in corners of the obsessively un-compulsive. My second was a hairball. My third was horror.

I leaned closer and realized I saw a long tail and two hind legs, as well as a dash of spinal chord. Where the head and the other half of that mouse disappeared, I don't think I'll ever know.

As I stared down at the massacre, Bek asked me what was wrong and I lightly explained to her in a voice that had been through a sugary sieve that the cat had gone rogue and caught whatever he had stalking under the fridge for the past few days, leaving some for later.

I watched my roommate grab the broom and proceed to sweep up the mouse corpse off of my floor. Except she chiseled it off-- because apparently it had been there long enough to have dried onto the wood.

Did I mention this is the roommate who (apart from odd gallant moments) has to call me into the room to handle any spiders?

P.S. HAPPY NATIONAL COMING OUT DAY FROM ME AND MY GAY KITTY. (Seriously. Everyone in my family doubted it until he tried to molest all the boys we brought home. 'Cause he's a STUPID FABULOUS BETCH.<3)

 For your viewing pleasure, me, messing with my Mama.