So Annie and I are up in Minnesota again, staying at the abode of Ann and Paul. Ann and Paul are lovely hosts who have welcomed us into their home numerous times. Ann and Paul have seven girls who have also welcomed us into their home numerous times. Among these seven girls, three are human, two are canine, one is feline. And one is the Feline Devil Incarnate.
Her name is Lilith. I am not making this up, really, it is her name. As you may know, Lilith is a name rich in evil and deviltry. Wikipedia tells me that it translates to "female night being/demon." This is an uncannily apt moniker for this beast.
Lilith bites. Without warning or provocation. She loves to creep up to people, pretending to be a normal cat, purring and rubbing. One thinks, "Oh, look. How sweet. A normal mentally healthy cat who wants to be petted." One says, "Kitty, kitty, kitty" and she comes and rubs against one, as cats do when they want attention of the petting variety. One pets Lilith. One might even get to stroke her several times. Then, out of the blue, without provocation or explanation, CHOMP. Her true nature becomes apparent.
She bites the hand that feeds her. She bites her family. She bites their friends. She bites her cat sister, Rosie. She bites the dogs, for crying out loud.
Have I mentioned that she bites? I knew this before last night, but rediscovered it in new and less than endearing circumstances last night. Last night I slept with the Feline Devil Incarnate.
When I climbed into bed, I saw her peering at me from amongst the many pillows. Apparently I'm sleeping in her favorite lair. I knew that it would be prudent to remove her as soon as possible. But even approaching her with the cooing, sing-song "Here kitty, kitty, kitty" was apparently akin to ringing the bell at the beginning of a boxing match.
Lilith began swatting and hissing. I am not normally afraid of cats. But I am afraid of female night beings/demons who swat and hiss and bite. So I protected myself, as any intelligent woman would, with a pillow. Holding it before me like a shield, I tried to push her off the bed toward the door. Now, a normal cat would turn tail and run at this point. But not Lilith. She attacked the pillow.
I withdrew to reconsider my tactics. She ran under the bed. I decided to accept this action as a truce and went to sleep. I forgot that truces must be mutually acknowledged. Lilith did not call a truce. She was biding her time. Waiting until I was unconscious and vulnerable. Daring to annoy her by moving my fingers under the sheets, which she promptly pounced on and bit.
This is not on my recommended list of ways to be awakened at night. It's even lower than the "Mom, I just threw up on the carpeting" announcement, although possibly slightly higher than the adult male elbow bashing into the soundly sleeping nose. Again, I did what any sensible woman would do when awakened under such circumstances: I defended myself with a pillow. And we both went back to sleep.
I would've been happy to sleep through the rest of the night. I was even willing to share my bed with her in uneasy peace, if she'd just kept her freaking fangs away from my tender, delicate skin. But, no. She waited until I was out cold and started stalking my toes.
My toes are part of my climate control system. I'm too hot? My toes peak out from under the covers, catching the breeze from the ever-present fan. I'm too hot? My toes hide under the covers, possibly straying onto the male side of the bed if seeking extra warmth.
It being a summer night and my being a 48 year old woman, it is quite natural that my toes were lollygagging in the breeze, a perfect target for the evil fanged demon. Again, I am unconscious. I am wriggling my toes in blissful unawareness. Then CHOMP, she bites me into wakefulness.
By this time, it's 5:30am. Serious measures must be taken. I must sleep, heat be damned. So, once again I turned to the pillows. I piled all six of them on top of me and hid until the alarm went off.
Tonight, I'm locking my door. Surely she can't bite through THAT!