The tale of the cat and the window sill

Well, here it is 2:30 in the morning. I tried lying down to sleep, but just as I was about to doze off, I heard a thud.

I lay in bed listening, wondering what in the world was going on.

Then I heard it again, over near the window. First the thud and the "meow."

I smiled a little to myself as I lay there. The smile broadened with every thud.

There were seven thuds in all, with each the "meow" seemed to become more distressed. Finally instead of a thud I heard the sound of soft feet landing on wood. I sat up in bed and turned on the overhead light.

Emma, our "darling" new addition to the family had finally made it from the floor to the windowsill -- a five-foot jump.

It all started about a week ago. From the top of the bed to the window was an easy jump for her after the first couple of attempts. The problem didn't come when she jumped into the windowsill, it started when she jumped down.

The first night it happened, I passed it off as an accident. A cat landing on top of your head in the middle of the night when you're dead to the world isn't the worst thing that can happen to you.

I got out of bed and put her out of the bedroom, firmly shutting the door before she could scurry back in.

When we first got Emma she was a welcome guest in our bed -- that is until she discovered the window. At the time, the window was directly over the headboard of our bed. And Emma loves sitting in windows; it's her favorite pastime.

The second night -- the same scenario, cat jumps into window, cat jumps on my head. I was sure a little swat would make her understand.

The third night, she jumped up into the window while I was still awake. I decided to let her stay, she was so cute curled up into a little ball and sleeping like a baby.

At about 2:30 a.m., I awoke with a cat paw in my eye -- thankfully with claws retracted. I swatted her a little harder this time, picked her up none-too-gently and dropped her outside my door -- yes, cats always do land on their feet -- and slammed the door in her face.

I lay back down to sleep, but it had escaped me. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that I was seething with anger.

I got up and went to work. I moved some of my bedroom furniture around and turned the bed 90 degrees. The edge of the bed is now sitting about four feet from the window that's five feet off the ground.

"She won't get up there again," I told myself. And then I went upstairs and surfed the Web for the next three hours until Brad woke up.

I went to bed at about 11:30 last night. I started hearing the thudding sound at about 12:30, I hadn't drifted off to sleep yet, too many things on my mind.

Emma is now locked in my bedroom while I sit upstairs, surfing the 'net and writing this column.

Emma doesn't like it when I'm on the computer. Emma wants to play with the computer. Emma wants to type. Emma wants to chase the "mouse track."

Emma may very well be the handmaiden of Satan.