This morning my cats tried to kill me. More precisely, one of them tried to kill me, the other served as the distraction. It started one minute before the alarm went off. Cat’s know that moment, right before the alarm rings, where their people are at their weakest mentally and physically.

I heard them circling my head, in tandem, stomping from pillow to pillow, comforter then back to the pillow. Hearing the alarm they bolted down the hall, expecting me to follow. Ah, but I did not follow. I hit snooze and ignored them. That was my mistake.

The alarm went off again. Eyes half shut, oblivious, I stumbled down the hallway, unaware that my presence had awoken the beasts of hell. Barreling down the corridor they came for me, a large black shadow and a smaller gray and white streak. The wife’s gray cat reached me first, darting past my bare calves, pivoting, then dropping at my feet. In order to avoid stomping the demon, I stepped to the right, knocking myself off balance.

My cat, the traitor, slammed headlong into my legs, knocking me forward, sending me down like Santa Claus on the seventh day of Chanukah.

As I lay in shock, the wife called out from the shower, �Oh honey, I forget to tell you. The cat’s haven’t eaten yet.�

�Yeah, I’m all over that,� I said, spitting out carpet fibers.