|Gwennie, in a less werewolf-like state.|
I awoke around 1am to the sound of one of the cats rustling some paper, or a bag, or some other extremely loud shit. I reached over and pushed Gwennie off of the nightstand. Take your feline antics elsewhere, momma needs her beauty rest.
She jumped back up, and I pushed her off again. After a third noisy leap onto the nightstand and more annoying rustling, I reached over to punt her like Baxter.
I didn't have my glasses on, but I quickly realized she had gotten herself stuck in the handle of a paper gift bag and was trapped like a goose in a plastic pop holder.
I leaped out of bed, and tried to pull the bag over her head. No dice. She was WEDGED. I called for K to come assist me, grabbed some scissors and prepared to cut her free.
Now the thing about Gwennie is that she won't let you pick her up. Ever. She is a pirate with one eye (K rescued her from the shelter) and freaks the fuck out if you lift her off of the ground.
K picked her up like a dirty baby, I put my glasses on and grabbed the scissors. Suddenly, shit got very Twilight and Gwennie transformed into a werewolf. She started snarling, hissing, and BITING as K held her tightly. Tears poured down my face as I tried to secure the scissors under the bag handle.
A flurry of hissing, biting and crying ensued as tufts of fur flew all over the room. She also peed on the bed for good measure, JUST before I was able to cut her free. I stood shaking for a minute, then we both started laughing. We high fived at our awesome parenting and teamwork skills and thanked our lucky stars that this didn't happen while we were gone in the mitten state. Now excuse me while I go on a gift bag cutting rampage around the house and snip all the handles.
PS: She's totally fine this morning and urine free. I, however, am another story.