Protecting My Baby

My friends (and, I assume, my parents) are getting a kick out of how I've gone all maternal over my cat.

Case in point:  this morning.

My alarm goes off.  I get up, open the bedroom door, and let Jasmine in.  She meows cheerfully (I love that part), runs around my legs a little bit (I love that part too) and then gallops down the hall into the living room -- that part's a little weird.

I mean, Jasmine takes off with a total, "Come follow me" vibe.  And this "Timmy's fallen in the well" behavior isn't something I expect from my cat ... or, any cat, really.

So I follow after her, saying (yes, I talk to my cat), "What'd you find, baby?  What is it?"

She jumps up on the window sill and starts batting at it.

"Something out the window, baby?  What is it?"  (Neighbor cat lives downstairs, but he usually doesn't freak her out from a distance.)

And then I hear it.

A buzz.

She's batting at a bee.

I think, "Please be outside the window; please be outside the window; please be outside the window."

It's not outside the window.

Here's my cat, happily swatting at a bee, and neither one of them is cognizant of the danger presented to them by this scenario.

"Jasmine, no!" I yell, genuinely frightened for her. 

I hate bees.  I'm a-scared of 'em.  (I don't know whether I'm allergic as, knock on wood, I've avoided being stung -- but given how well I reacted to those damn sandfly bites, I don't really want to find out.)  So I want to keep my own distance from the bee, but I want to get my kitten the heck out of there.

I grab the cat in my left arm, and go for the RAID with my right.  I relocate my purry little princess across the room and let the bee have it.

The bee has (thankfully) decided to take cover behind my window blinds.  I empty about a quarter can of RAID in there.  I spray the edges of the blinds.  I spray the bottom of the blinds.  I spray right in between the blinds where one of the slats is broken.  I basically fill the space between window and blinds with a heavy fog of RAID.  I figure the bee will drown if he doesn't choke to death.  I spray so much RAID in there, this bee's relatives back at the hive are coughing sympathetically.  What I'm trying to say is:  I did not skimp on the RAID.

During this process, Jasmine has taken a little interest -- as there's still a little sad buzzing to be heard from the other side of the blinds.  But it's kind of pitiful and I figure he's down for the count -- or at least long enough for me to move Jas to the other side of the room again, since NOW I need to keep her away from all that harmful-to-pets RAID I've let loose in the house.

I return to the scene of the bee-icide.  (It's not murder!  I was defending my kitty!)  The bee has by now given up the ghost, and has fallen into the bottom of the window frame.  I open the window to air some of the RAID out (half hoping I'll manage to do further harm to the bee by opening the window over him).  There's so much RAID in there, it has puddled on the blinds.  I have to clean it off with some (plural) Windex wipes, as the blinds are pretty much dripping RAID when I raise them.

'bout a half hour later, I close the window.  The house STILL smells like RAID, and the bee corpse is unharmed. 

I have to move the bee body.  Under normal circumstances, I'd just leave it -- but, knowing Jas, I'd come home to find her batting a dead bee around the living room, and that can't be good.  I decided to scoop it up in a napkin.  No, two napkins.  No, three.  Three napkins.  That's enough of a distance.

I put two napkins in one hand, one in the other, squash the bee between them, and run it over to the trash compactor.  I then put some newspaper over it and run the compactor.  Just in case.  I mean, like he isn't already dead from a quarter can of RAID, the weight of a window, and a triple-napkin squashing.

I leave the window open to air the RAID out so my little baby won't get sick, and I leave for work.

I get to work late, but, y'know, it WAS an emergency.