The Night Before Judgment Day

"T'was the night before Judgment Day
And all through the house
Bedlam reigned supreme,
Without a shadow of doubt!"

Last evening my roommate suddenly discovered she had double-booked herself. She had been invited to a party, an invitation that she had accepted days ago. Her boyfriend was out of town and their adorable little cat was here at our place. Suddenly, her little sister and brother needed to be babysat since the parents were working the night shift. She was trying to figure out how she could co-ordinate it all when I told her that I'd be at home, so once the kids were in bed, we'd all be alright. The kids got here a little past nine. The elder is a pre-teen girl (C), the younger a little boy of five (E), both beautifully-behaved. To our relief and slight surprise, the cat had been really quiet all day too. I was reasonably certain it was going to be a silent night. Oh, holy night!, was I wrong!

A little bit of background. We live in a pretty two-bedroom place right across from the park. Each of us has a room, and we have a spare bed out in the living room for friends who want to crash. The little children have met the cat before but aren't too comfy with her; indeed, E is downright scared of her. J decided to get the kids to sleep in her room, and she'd crash out in the living room when she got home in the wee hours. She asked me to make sure the lights were out at eleven. The kitten is used to our place and would be reasonably comfortable out in the hall, although she usually snuggles in with J in her room.

Eleven.
I got the kids to turn off the computer, settled them in under the comforter, told them to call out to me if they needed anything, and decided to check on the cat before turning in myself. She's usually a playful kitten and, to me, this continued silence seemed ominous. The kitten seemed alright but bewildered at the absence of her beloved "mommy" and concerned about strangers in her room. But she was sitting at the window looking out at the snow falling in the park, so I guessed we were good.

Eleven fifteen.
Silence. I think everyone's asleep and embark upon a mini art project.

Eleven twenty.
C walks out. "E's kicking me. Can I sleep on the bed outside?"
"Sure. Let me make you comfy."

Eleven thirty.
I walk into J's room to check on E. In the darkness, he appears to be squirming a little.
"E, are you asleep?"
I get the answer I expect. "No."
"Are you comfy?"
"No."
"What's wrong?"
"This bed is a little hard."
O-Kay.

I walk out. "C, are you asleep?"
"No." I'd expected it, neither had looked remotely sleepy when I turned the lights out.
"Can you switch with E? Sleep inside, he's finding that mattress hard, so he might like this one better."
"Sure."

I walk back in. "Let's go. Your sister will sleep here so you don't kick each other."
"Well, the cat is outside."
Oh my. This wanted thinking over. If I'd just tried to be more "Mummy", I'd not have allowed either of them to move from their original positions. I'd just have told them to "hush and you'll go to sleep". But, not having had any experience, I allowed myself to float with the tide.
"Ok, I'll take the cat into my room."
The entire sequence took about fifteen minutes.

Midnight.
C: J's room.
E: Living room.
Cat and Self: My room. Not a creature was stirring. Well, at least not the human creatures. The cat seemed to be quietly exploring my room. (She isn't usually allowed inside and so this is candyland for her.) Each time she'd go to the nooks under embargo, I'd haul her out again. And so we played the old cat-and-mouse game - with a role reversal for her, of course. I was working on my art project.

Twelve five.
Cat getting antsy. Wants to go out into the living room and play, I expect. Well, Nope!

Twelve fifteen.
(DO NOT READ FURTHER if you are squeamish or currently eating.)
Cat getting positively weird. I decide, for the sake of harmony in the living room, to take her in my arms and put her in J's room where she can sleep. As soon as I pick her up, she starts scratching and biting. She'd been declawed just the previous day, but the way she felt, it was like handling an "X-Cat" - teeth morphing into razors, and claws into pins and needles. She was biting and scratching - and then she hissed. Hissed at me!! I've never seen a cat do that. Nor, come to think of it, had J ever mentioned it to me. She was suddenly this rattle-snakey X-cat, and I dropped her in shock. The door was open, she ran out, into J's room. And used the litter-box. Ah, dawning light. Within a few minutes the richest smell of cat you-know-what filled the room. (To complicate matters, the windows are plastic-d for insulation so we couldn't open them either!) I peeked into the litter-box, and saw (a) the largest possible ratio of cat feces to cat size, and (b) the largest ratio of smell to cat feces. I backed off before I died of suffocation. C was awake at the other end of the room, she said she was fine, so I left her there and walked out with the cat. After that rather hard-to-top performance, I was a bit wary of allowing the kitten into my room again, so I decided to leave her in the living room as it seemed as though she wanted to do nothing more than sleep in the corner.

Twelve thirty.
C walked out. "Do you have air freshener?", looking perfectly innocent. I think I nearly died once more, trying to choke back the laughter. We both looked at the cat, who seemed to have decided that she'd accomplished something great and could take a restful break from the cares of the world. Then I sprayed her room, while we waited outside.

Twelve forty.
C is back in bed. E is up, outside. "The cat's looking at me."
"Yes, but she's at the other end of the room, she won't do anything."
But I guess he was scared, so I took the opportunity to cut a deal. "Look, you'll be able to sleep comfortably if you go inside. But you'll have to promise not to kick your sister."
"Okay."

Twelve fifty.
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
My bedroom door was open. I was doing my art project on the floor. The cat, who was initially at the other end of the living room had, by degrees, come closer and closer, and was now sitting quietly just outside my bedroom door, looking at the colors spread out on the carpet. Now I know that they really mean it when they say "curiosity kills ... ." Cats are really curious by nature! Finally, after nearly two hours, I'd managed to get my excited flock to subside.

Then the cat started giving unmistakable signs that she was ready for play.

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Judgment Day dawned bright and early - a trifle too bright, a trifle too early for me. (And it's mid-winter here!) I'd slept deeply but not for long, and I still felt the strange stress of the previous night, not to forget the cat's claws, on me. And I had to get to work!! Then, Fi, who is at his cousin's place for a religious "baby-shower" ceremony, sent me a text message saying "Do you really want two kids? Two saris per ceremony per kid. You'll have to go through four saris!"

While the saris are not a problem, I've never really given a lot of thought to the number-of-babies pot-hole. I figure I should get done with the biggest baby of them all ("The Dissertation") before I try to mother any others, if that. Add to that last night's rich (in more than one way) mixture and you can understand why I "Thanks; but no, thanks!"-ed the Fi, and informed him I'd get my "pet kicks" volunteering at the animal shelter and my "baby kicks" volunteering in an orphanage if I felt I wanted any of either kind. And boy, am I serious!

Well, case closed. At least for today.

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P.S. I have to admit I know exactly why people want children and pets. I can't deny that last night alleviated the monotony of my days wonderfully. I'll be talking about this one for ages. On the flip side, of course, there's such a thing as "too much excitement". Hmmm. It's a toughie!