This morning my wife relaying a tale of woe woke me up.

Let me relate that tale to you…

One of our cats, Missile, had been playing (“toying”) with a small spider. Apparently, this particular spider had been less than amused with the attention. As a result, a bite was apparently in order and delivered directly to Missiles’ snout.

She yelped. (As would I.)

My wife, whom had witnessed this, flushed the offending arachnid.

She woke me up and relayed the sequence of events to me.

“Check her face before you leave for work today.”

I murmured acknowledgement and rolled over resuming a state of sleep.

Dutifully, however, when I dragged myself out of bed, I went looking for Missile to check on her.

I looked…

I looked…

I looked…

Finally I discovered her holed up, prepared to defend, underneath our bed.

Half a deconstructed bed later, I realized that I needed a flashlight to determine her exact whereabouts and check if her face has swollen up like a watermelon - I set off to retrieve it.

When I returned no sign of her was illuminated. She had taken the opportunity to get out of her foxhole while I was distracted to scurry out into other parts of the house.

With half a deconstructed bed, a now pointless flashlight, and a sense that I was rapidly becoming later and later for work, I set off to locate the fleeing feline.

Chasing her round and round the house, she gave off distressed sounds, which I was concerned about – was she in pain from the spider bite, or distressed that I was chasing her about the house like a lunatic.

Sometimes mornings in my house can be unusual. Mostly, though, as I would prefer – they are sleepy.