March 3, 2009 by skwishface
Most creatures, when threatened or frightened, have one of two instinctual responses: Fight or Flight.
I don’t know if it’s the sea of hormones in which I’ve been marinating for the past 36 weeks, but my instincts have provided a third (and apparently preferred) response option: Burst Into Tears.
I am not a cryer. I do not cry easily or comfortably. Safe to say I hate crying. But there it is.
My husband’s cat likes to sleep on my pillow. This was cute when he was but a wee kitten, however now that he’s twelve pounds of fur-covered disdain for anyone who is not The Hubs, it’s a bit more of a bother. If I’m awake enough, or he gets obnoxious about it, I’ll chase him off my pillow and get back to sleep. But inevitably I do fall completely asleep, and the cat curls up around my noggin like Satan’s Hat. I know it sounds like awww, the sweet kitty just wants to sleep with me. Don’t be fooled. He actually wants to sleep near The Hubs, and he wants a comfy pillow on which to do it. The fact that my head happens to also be on this pillow is of little consequence to him.
So at 5:54am this morning, six minutes before my alarm would go off, all hell broke loose on my head. Something suddenly startled The Cat, who then launched himself into the air by way of digging his claws into my skull and the palm of my hand. Unfortunately, he went more up than over, so he landed back on my head, thereby necessitating another gouging of claws into my poor defenseless scalp as he flew across the nightstand at such a rate of speed that my alarm clock was flung into the opposite wall along with my glasses and whatever trashy romance novel I’ve been reading to get to sleep at night lately.
I awoke to fiery stinging pain in both my head and hand, and a thunderous crashing of things and walls, in the dark with my vision too blurry to see clearly if there was a MONSTER ABOUT TO EAT ME or not. Did I come up swinging fists of fury at the offending invisible assailant? Did I scramble across the bed to hide behind my husband? Did I have any immediate reaction that might be helpful and conducive to my survival, had this been an actual emergency early morning monster attack? No.
I burst into tears.
My poor husband, barely awakened by the cacophony of disaster, was left trying to figure out what the hell had just happened and why his very pregnant wife was sobbing like a child. To his credit, his first reaction was to hug me and mumble comforting nothings in sleepy-bear-ese. Then he had to turn on a light and locate my glasses, because I’m entirely too blind to find them myself. And hey, since the light was on, let’s check the cat-inflicted wounds and assess the damage.
Luckily, the wounds are shallow. They just sting like the dickens. The worst of the aftermath was just getting me calmed down again. Stupid tears.
But hey, at least this incident was more worthy of bawling than the one that set me off when I was pregnant with The Boy. What was that, you ask? This movie right here:
The entire film made me cry. I spent the whole time hiding my face behind The Hubs’ shoulder and waiting for it to be over. In retrospect, it’s an excellent horror film. At the time though, it was just very upsetting.
Gawd, I’m a wuss.