by Charles Lee
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Blinda sat bolt-upright in the bed. Beads of perspiration lined up in formation on her forehead. What a terrible dream! The monster was bellowing out screeching noises that was horrifying and yet somewhat familiar. Thank goodness it was only a dream. Settling back under the covers, thinking about her incredibly handsome husband, her eyelids started to relax once more. MEEOWIEOOOOO!
It wasn’t a dream! The monster was just outside the bedroom window! Wait a minute. Monster? Fear started to simmer into aggravation and then slowly began to boil into anger. It was those frazzlin cats again. That’s right, they were frazzlin cats.
A momma cat had decided to have her kittens under the house sometime last year. That would have been fine if she would have moved on with her family, but alas, she decided that she liked the house and began to complain about the need for a few improvements around the place. In fact, the little family of cats began to act like they owned the place. I could imagine her telling the now half-grown kittens, “I sure wish the bums upstairs would quiet down during the day when we are trying to sleep!”
Needless to say, the incredibly handsome husband (who can usually sleep through a hurricane) was forced to patiently and lovingly listen to his upset wife. “I haven’t hardly gotten a wink of sleep in three nights! Those frazzlin cats have got to go!” The forceful manner in which she spoke these words didn’t bode well for Prissy and her family. “You named the cat!”
I could tell I was going to have to use my psychological expertise on her in order to calm her nerves. They were getting frazzled, not unlike the cat family, but I chose to keep this opinion to myself.
“What you need is something to soothe your thoughts” I expertly commented.
“What I need is a good night’s sleep” she replied rather brusquely!
Not one to be distracted by a distraught wife holding a butcher’s knife in which she was using to cut up the breakfast sausage, I continued on with my psychotherapy. “Nine out of ten psychologists suggest that holding a cat in your lap while gently stroking its fur can do wonders for calming your nerves. You see a cat just naturally knows how to relax and therefore by you holding the cat, its tendency for relaxation will transfer over to you. Not everyone knows this piece of wisdom.”
Luckily, my “cat-like” reflexes helped me to escape outside before she could reach me with the knife. So what if the three year old had to be sacrificed as interference to help me accomplish this feat.
As I sat outside, wondering why women get so upset over little things like lack of sleep, I began to reflect on all the things that frazzle our nerves. Deadlines, bills, sports events (I still can’t believe I got my hopes up with the Saints), children (hearing the word MOM yelled out a thousand times in one day), and laundry are just a few items that tend to frustrate adults during the course of a day.
May I suggest a time-out? Spend a moment or two with the Handler of all problems. Put your everyday life into the hands that created you. You still won’t enjoy being woke up at two in the morning by howling cats, but it just might help you cope with the inconveniences that come your way.
Oh, I just thought of something else that might help Blinda’s nerves. Peeking in the door just in case the knife was still in her hands, “Honey, Sugarpie? I thought of something that might make you feel better. I’ll watch the baby while you go in the room and take you a little catnap.”
Anyway, it’s not so cold outside. Besides I can’t sleep with all that caterwallin’ going on.
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Good story, but with some transitions that interrupted the flow of your article. Also, the butcher knife scene was confused in its inception. Just some misspells, but your spell checker needs something to do anyway. "Catnap?" I love the humor of it but I did wonder if you maybe should just "up the dosage" of your medication. I would change the transition between the catnap "parting shot" and the sleeping outside. But, I am an opinionated kinda guy anyway.