So this morning just before 6am, I'm rudely awakened by a stuffed fox thumping me in the nose. This was quickly followed by 10 pounds of exuberant year-old cat pouncing on my chest. I responded by screaming "Ugh!" then "Puck!" in a sleepy and whiny tone. My husband grunted and rolled over, oblivious to the attack.
Now, this isn't the first time I've woken up with cat toys (or cats) in my bed, nor is it the first time I've had this particular stuffed fox flung at me at high speeds. The last time, Puck landed it in my bowl of spaghetti. I was able to grab it before he did and wash it off before he dragged sauce all over the house.
Puck really loves his fox. And his favorite way of playing with it, is to grab it by its tail and fling it as high as he can, then leap for it with every ounce of his furry little body. Usually, this evokes responses like:
"Aw, he's so cute when he does that!"
"Man, he got some good height on that one."
"At least he missed the lamp."
At 5:46am, all he gets are screams. Not that he cares. He just grabs the fox by the tail and flings it out the bedroom door. I've gotten really good at ignoring the sounds of things falling over.
It's a good thing he's so cute.