The Bobcat, The Husband Person and The Wardrobe

I've mentioned before that my dear husband person, Carl, can sleep through pretty much anything. I also should mention that any readers of the male gender will want to stop reading now. Trust me. Nana knows best.

All the fellows gone? Good. Poor loves, what I'm about to share tends to cause them pain just to read.

Once upon a time I came home to find yet another kitten had been dumped in the yard. He was a handsome gray tabby with a large, roundish face. When I took him to the vets, we were told he was part bobcat and would probably get larger.

Hoo boy I hope to shout he got larger. When he finally stopped growing he topped out at around 35 to 40 pounds and about twice the size of the other cats. Hobby was a friendly soul, though, and showered everyone with affection. He also appointed himself to be guardian angel for our grandson and would sit on the dresser near the baby, just daring anyone to come close to Jon.

At that time we had a large wardrobe next to the bed and Hobby (Hobbes Katzenheimer was his full name) and Merlin (long hair tuxedo male) used to sleep on top, jumping down to the bed, then the floor. We never thought anything of it.

Oh dear. One of the men knows where this is going. Read fast, love, I'll be brief.

So there we were, sleeping the sleep of the sleepy. The bed was just right, the covers just enough and not too much or too little. It was quiet and perfect sleeping weather. You know how that is.

The cats needed to use the box, get a drink or a nibble of kibble or just to prowl. I was marginally aware as Merlin jumped to the bed from the top of the wardrobe. He was only 8 pounds and managed to land on mattress and not human. Merlin was a very considerate cat.

Then it was Hobbes turn to jump down. I opened my eyes in time to see him scrunch down on the front end, the butt end wiggling. I curled up in a ball, pulling the blanket over my head.

He jumped. He scored. Carl screamed, holding his private parts and writhing in agony on the bed. Hobbes and Merlin scurried out of the bedroom. Morgana, Lunatic and Boo peeked into the room to see what was happening and was there anything in it for them. The boys came into the room, quickly exiting when they realized what had happened to their father. They also held their private parts in sympathy, groaning almost as loudly as their Dad.

Carl rarely snarls, but he did this time. I offered cold compresses, he refused them (in quite a churlish manner, truth be told). I offered warm compressed, he refused more loudly. (Really now, it was just a little cat for heaven's sake!) He told me to leave him alone. (Honestly, men!) All his writhing on the bed messed it up terribly. I could barely sleep for his groans. Really, they can be such ninnies at times.

That's when we moved the wardrobe into the living room and started shutting the bedroom door at night.

Some time later I drew a cartoon of The Incident. It had a large wardrobe with large cat and a man sleeping in bed in the first frame. The second frame just showed the man, eyeballs (and other balls, too) bulging out as the huge cat jumped on him, waking him from peaceful repose. The third frame had the smaller cats holding up score cards.

Carl hated that cartoon. I cannot imagine why.

Now all the male dears who have read this far should go to Google and look up something like "Man home alone with taser." It is quite amusing.