Feline induced funk

“We need to kill all the cats.”

“Huh?”

I am lying on my side in bed, eyebrows so low that I can feel them on my upper lip.

“WE. NEED. TO. KILL. ALL. THE. CATS.“

“You don’t mean that.  You love the cats.”

“4:45!“

“Hmmm?”

“4 FUCKING 45 this morning Minuit with her fishy kibble cat breath and her petulant ‘MEH’ was in my face.  And then when I tried to ignore her she copped a feel and nipped at my nose.”

“I’m sorry love.”

“Why?  It’s not your fault…  …   …  Wait, it IS your fault.  You closed the bedroom door last night and she was trapped inside with us which means that at 4 FUCKING 45 a.m. (because she is terrified of you) I was the only person she could wake up to let her out.”  I open one glaring eye at David.  “And then… and THEN… fucking Lola comes in at 6:45 and breathes on me and fucking chirps at me.”

“So this would have nothing to do with the fact that you didn’t sleep well all weekend because you drank too much wine and it gave you hot flashes, and this just happened to be night three of poor sleep?”

“And what the fuck is THAT about?  All I want is to enjoy a good bottle of wine and by bottle, I don’t even mean bottle, I mean two glasses.  Why am I being punished?”  I roll onto my stomach softly sobbing.  “I hate peri-menopause.  I hate cats.”

“No, you don’t.  You cross traffic to pet them.”

“I hate cats this morning,” I huff.   I think about what I’ve actually verbalized and reconsider my stance on cat euthanasia.    “We don’t have to kill them all.  Minuit and Lola will be sent to Kitty Boarding School.  Steve can stay.  STEVE!  YOU CAN STAY, but your sisters are being shipped off to learn the error of their ways.”