I am already awake, which ordinarily I don’t recommend at a quarter to four. I don’t think it would have mattered one way or the other, because I can’t imagine my efforts could have been less ept. Something about the noise the Cat made, when she hit the doggy door clued me in. I reach for the light, and grabbed my robe. Whatever she’s brought in, I’m not facing it naked.

The Cat is already on the far side of the bedroom, and has already set her prize down, when I get to her. Sigh. I grab a plastic bag to dispose of it, but at it was dea—OHGODOHGOD!

Not dead. Alive. Mouseratcreaturewithlongnakedtail. Ohgodohgodewewew. Where’s the Dog Monster? DogMonster has run outside. Coward. Ohgod. What do I do? Breathe. You’ve done this before—just drop a towel on it like a net, and take it outside. Done this before. In the kitchen, where there was less cover for it to take. I dash to the closet for a towel, decide against it, and grab a dirty one from the pile I’d meant to wash yesterday. Ohgodohgodohgod.

I don’t know how the Cat caught it in the first place, because she’s doing a pisspoor job of pursuing it right now. She chases it into the bathroom. She and it are crammed between the wall and the toilet. I do not have a clear shot of the rodent—repeat, do not have a clear shot. The Cat sits up, looks at me. The rodent takes cover under her.Its long naked tail is sticking out between her front paws. I yell at her to focus, but even as I’m doing that, I’m running through the names of sites where I can list a cat in need of a new home.

She bats at the rodent again. It somehow gets around her, and dashes behind a bookcase. I suddenly hate books. The Cat follows it to the bookcase, then stops to wash herself. I grab a picture frame I’ve never gotten around to hanging (yes, I’ve lived here a year. Fuck off.), and stick it to one side of the bookcase, to keep the rodent from hiding behind even more impenetrable furniture.

Now what?

Best case scenario: the rodent surrenders, comes out from under the bookcase, and drops dead. The Cat picks it up and disposes of it outside. We never speak of it again.

Alternate next best case scenario: the rodent surrenders, comes out from under the bookcase, and promptly is taken into custody by the Cat, who picks it up and disposes of it outside. We never speak of it again.

Suboptimal scenario: the Cat loses interest and wanders off. The rodent comes out from under the bookcase, I net it with the towel, pick it up, and dispose of it outside. We never speak of it again.

Worst case scenario: the Cat loses interest and wanders off. The rodent, sensing my defenselessness, comes out from under the bookcase, attacks me, I die a horrible death from the bubonic plague. The rodent eats my shoes.

The Cat appears to be focusing. Insanely, I lose focus and start taking her picture. No—not insanely: I can’t find my flashlight (Shut up!) and this way I can see under the bookcase. I start moving the books, with the idea that I will move the bookcase.

 I get all the books moved. I wonder how long it’ll take me to get around replacing them. If I survive the night. The Cat chuffs to the rodent. She undoubtedly believes she is making soothing noises. I hate them both equally. I move the bookcase.

The rodent has somehow gotten around the barrier I’d set down, and is now behind a piece of furniture I can’t move on my own. The Cat slides into the crack after it. The rodent comes out on the other side, runs to the door, and down the hallway. As I follow it, I look for something to prod it with, to keep it moving in the right direction. The rodent scrambles to the top of the baseboard, but finding itself exposed, gets back onto the floor. It clings to the wall, as it moves slowly to the backdoor. It’s too much to hope for that it knows how to use the doggy door. No, it’s about to get out of here alive. I don’t want it knowing how to use the doggy door.

Ohgodohgod—I’m going to have to pass right by it to open the door to let it out. Maybe I should run back and put shoes on—but what shoes? The only shoes I can remember I own are silver flats.

^{Not effective against rat attacks.}

Those won’t do me any good when it bites my ankle. Ohgod, I’m going to have pass it. Ewewew. Fortunately, I found some inner reserve of strength and was able to overtake the thing before it reached the door, found itself trapped, and launched itself at my jugular. I opened the door—Gah—it’s going to have to pass by me again, and it was gone.

I’m sweating, relieved, and heading back to my bedroom. I notice my flashlight sitting by the doorway. The Cat is still poised, looking for the rodent. She never realized that I wasn’t shrieking in the hallway for some inscrutable reasons of my own.

I crawl back into bed to salvage some of the night. The Cat squawks at me. It is breakfast time.