Living with a serial killer

Brianne’s kitty is a homicidal maniac and proof that instinct exists!  Because I sincerely doubt that any of my children taught her how to hunt.  I do, however, suspect that one of them taught her how to count.  I think she’s working overtime to feed us because “we are so many.”

Yesterday, Brianne saved a chipmunk from Kitty.  Two hours later I had the pleasure of walking into the garage later to find feathers and a dead bird.  And today I found some kind of chipmunk-like rodent.

I need to figure out a way to explain to the cat that A.)  Humans go to places like stores and buy food already packaged.  B.) I would have to be starving to eat something she killed.  C.)  I don’t like dead things around my house.  D.)  It’s not her job to feed me because I have something called money and even if I didn’t I have something called a husband.

Note to self:  Next time say no to getting a cat.

I’m attempting to raise non-wimpy children

But it can be difficult when you actually are a wimp.  I’m trying anyway.  (Mostly because I’m such a massive wimp that if my husband isn’t home I need the aforementioned children to dispose of any animal/insect life that I come in contact with.)  The second reason I’m trying is because I don’t want them to be as wimpy as I am.

I start the de-wimpification process by attempting to show that whatever is making my brain hyperventilate is not a big deal.  (I wanted to be an actor when I was in Junior High so in a way I’m actually living out a childhood dream.)  Usually they see through my attempts but I flatter myself … not always.  (Unless the creature has wings including butterflies! If it has wings in an enclosed space I am willing to sacrifice any child within reach!)

I’m not really a fan of coming into contact with any animal life … except as food or on TV.  Exception:  I think kittens are adorable.  Cats are tolerable.  I’m no longer a teenager so horses hold no allure for me.  Birds scare me.  And it goes downhill from there.

And so, it was with delight, that when I opened my front door last week to put Will on his bus, I found a chewed up mouse.  A gift from Brianne’s kitty to her.   (Considering that the cat has been outside for less than a month I’m worried that multiple corpses of dead birds and rodents will be lovingly placed at my front door!)

I immediately pounded on Brianne’s door, told her I was leaving in an hour and the bloody corpse better be gone before I had to leave again  … it was.

On a positive note Brianne is learning responsibility because I take no responsibility for deposing of dead things or finding someone to feed her cat while we are on vacation.

On a completely unrelated note does anyone want a cat? … Or small dead creatures?