The Real Mistress Of The House

I locked my cat outside last night.

Not on purpose, I promise. But it did happen. And she did spend the whole night outside.

Let me explain. My cat is a diva. She is the queen of the world. I can’t bring another animal home because it would deeply offend her. I’ve brought orphaned kittens home who were half-starved and pathetic in the extreme.

Turns out, she hates orphans. Every one of them.

We found another home for the kittens. Very, very quickly.

But sometimes—when it isn’t snowing or raining—Mrs. Hudson likes to take walks. So when I open the door, out she goes to explore. She is usually ready to be let back in after a few minutes and waits for me to open the door and stand to one side so that she can come in. Which I do.

Because I am the servant in this relationship.

But last night, I was out lying on my porch watching the stars. And Mrs. Hudson decided that it would probably be a good time for a midnight stroll herself.

And I forgot. Because I thought she’d slipped back inside when I came in. And since she’s black and slinky and likes to hide, I didn’t notice that she hadn’t come in.

So she slept outside last night. Probably under my woodpile where she was safe.

I feel guilty.

As soon as I woke up, she was at the door meowing to get back inside and resume her place as queen of all that she surveys. She might be the darkness beneath the trees and the deadly night embodied, but the deadly night still wants to sleep on the couch instead of under the woodpile.

I’m in a bit of trouble at the moment. She hasn’t spoken to me yet.

This might be why I spent half the night (no joke) dreaming about a cat that scratched and bit me because I was trying to keep it in a cage. The deadly night will always get her revenge, no matter how old and crotchety she herself is.

Do you have a pet that rules your household? Tell me about them in the comments!

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