(no subject)

[earthbelow]

I miss my own bed.

I also miss my own Boy. Who would've been a great comfort last night when Maggie (the dog) decided to alert me that we were under an all out Cat Attack last night.

And by Cat Attack, she means that a cat may have had the nerve to *exist* in, on, or around her yard in anyway.

And by last night, I mean 2am.

I thought about how nice it would be to have something very big, warm, and Boy shaped there to hang on to and whine, "I'm kinda freaked out and I can't get back to sleep".

Then I would've gone back to sleep a lot easier. Because I would've had the large Boy-shaped person there to say (in a very annoyed patient voice), "She just saw a cat, dear, go back to bed."

And then I would've. And that would've solved my problem.

Only it didn't. So I bit my nails and learned all about snipers on the History Channel while looking around suspiciously for a couple of hours.

And my defensive weapon of choice? A salon-grade curling iron that didn't have a cord in it. I figured it didn't look immediately like a curling iron and could be mistaken for a serious weapon at first glance.

"Come any closer and I'll give you a perm!"

But it's not like I had a choice. I mean, you can't make the decision that you're just seeing things all by yourself. That's stupid. That's the plot of every single teen slasher flick ever. The vixen victim looks around, decides she's just freaking out over nothing, and them *BAM*. The fast chick gets it first.

You have to have someone else there to tell you you're being silly. Because it's always the people who *didn't* think anything was wrong that get it, and that moves you one spot up the ladder towards that bright, shining light we like to call Surviving the Movie.