sometimes i can’t even believe it myself… and now, with updates!

I just finished knitting a super adorable capelet for a friend of mine to wear to a wedding this weekend.  Unfortunately there were no super adorable, yet super grown-up looking buttons to attach to make it totally complete.  And because I am the Sort Of Person that I am, I bought boring buttons and knit slipcovers for them.  And now they look like FABULOUS! CUSTOM! BUTTONS!!!
So I was sitting on the sofa, feeling just a teensy bit clever and smug about my fabulous custom button slipcover nonsense, watching completely ridiculous things on the Netflixes, and also feeling a little smug.  Did I mention I was thinking that I was a bit great?
THAT’S WHEN BAD THINGS HAPPEN, people.
Our old-ish and somewhat sickly cat, Sebby-Sebastian, jumped up from a sound, snoring sleep, and knocked over a lamp.  That was odd.  He’s not really into jumping, see, and this was pretty spectacular.  A minute of scuffling and scratching ensued, follwed by one of my most unfavorite noises in the world:  THE I AM THE SAVIOUR OF THE WORLD AND KILLER OF PESTILENCE MEOW.
It makes my tummy hurt.  Especially and also for example, when I am curled up in the corner of my sofa in the corner of the living room and there is no room for escape.
Sebby-Sebastian jumped up on the huge pile of laundry on the  other sofa, and shook his cousin-to-a-lion pretend mane.  The recently deceased mouse in his mouth flopped merrily.  Or something.  Sebby-Sebastian walked across the huge pile of laundry on  the sofa, meowing the Killer of Pestilence meow, and every muscle in my body cringed and clenched with every step he took, because I knew.
He was coming for me. 
Getting up from the sofa would only put me closer to Mr. Awesome and his Floppy Dead Mouse.  There was no escape.  He jumped from the other couch to the comfy chair.  The Floppy Dead Mouse was less than six feet away from me.  I curled up into the fetal position.  Sebby-Sebastian hopped off the comfy chair and onto the floor.  Five feet.  He dropped the Floppy Dead Mouse next to my clogs.  I threw up a little.  And all the while?  He meowed the Conquering Hero meow that sends the grotey-induced chills down my spine.
He jumped up next to me.  Floppy Dead Mouse was still on the floor, THANK GOD.  I told Sebby-Sebastian that he was a good, marvelous, wonderful kitty and that he was the bestest kitty in the world and that if he loved me he would take the mouse outside and dispose of it properly.  Sebby-Sebastian meowed knowingly, as if he understood that while I was terribly proud of him for saving our lives, I was also horribly skeeved out by Floppy Dead Mouse.
He jumped back down to the floor, and crouched next to Floppy Dead Mouse.  And just to prove that indeed, he was a cat, and that also he does not actually speak English, he loudly ate Floppy Dead Mouse.  Crunch.  Squish.  Crunchy-crunch.
And then?  Because the whole Floppy Dead Mouse crunchy-crunchy-squishy-crunch wasn’t enough?  He leaped onto the other sofa and barfed Super Messy Floppy Dead Mouse onto the arm of the sofa.  And because regurgitated mouse bits is STILL NOT ENOUGH?  He jumped to my comfy chair and barfed a whole bunch of other unidentifiable schmuckus on the arm of the comfy chair.
So instead of going to bed feeling quite satisfied with myself, I went to bed feeling squeaky clean after sanitizing my furniture.  
*Please know that I do recognize the cat probably has an actual medical condition and I did call the vet. 


Update:  Sebby-Sebastian did not eat the tail. And also?  Thanks be to God for boy-children.

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