While I like animals, it was not my idea to have an indoor cat. I prefer my pets outside. But our son promised to take care of a kitten so nicely that we got him one for his 12th birthday. I regretted my decision the night the cat got into my closet, scrabbling around with enough energy to wake me up. She was supposed to be asleep in my son's room, not clawing up my shoes.
Too tired to carry her upstairs, I set her outside my bedroom door, hoping she'd get the hint.
She didn't. She scratched our door with enough intensity that Bob finally carried her upstairs.
What was it with my shoes, anyway? Had I walked through catnip unaware?
When Bob returned, he told me that the dome light in my car was on. I sighed, crawled out of bed, and stuck my foot inside my yellow rubber garden shoe. Startled to feel something inside the toe, I yanked my foot out and stared in horror at a soggy mouse staggering from the shoe.
Shivers of revulsion flowing down my back, I leaped onto the bed, yelling, "There's a mouse in my shoe!"
Rolling over from beneath his cozy covers, Bob peered over the edge of the bed and said, "Well, it's not there now." Then he sunk back onto his pillow.
With dread, I got off the bed and made a much safer choice of flip flops to walk out to my car and turn off the light. The cold doesn't bother me as much as mice do!
Now I sleep with my door open, an invitation for the cat to come in and mouse-free my shoes any time she wants to.
What happened when you misjudged someone, either man or beast?
