32. "Of Bath Mice, Dust Bunnies & Plot Ninjas"

The bath mouse was gone. I'd turned my back just long enough to rinse my hair one last time -- couldn't have been more than a minute. Where did it go?

I looked around the tub and in the soapy water pooled at my feet. I felt around with my toes where I couldn't see under the suds near the drain. Ah, something was there -- small and furry.

Covering it with my toes, I pinned it to the floor of the tub and gently scootched it around, toward the back of the tub. These things must be handled quickly and carefully -- or they'll get away. Now, the tricky part -- I lifted my toes, then reached down and grabbed the little thing just as it started to float away. Got it! Water streamed off the mouse as I tossed it onto the side of the tub. Hmmm ... it wasn't the missing mouse -- too small.

As I stood up to finish rinsing, a black and white paw reached around the curtain -- and swiped that mouse, slick as you please!

Sylvester!

I peeked around the shower curtain to find the little culprit playing hockey, on the bathroom floor, with two bath mice!

Hah! Mouse-napper.

When he wasn’t looking, I hid the bath mice in the wastebasket -- for which I swear I heard a sigh of relief. At least they could relax in peace and not be batted about like pucks.

Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Sylvester was at it again. Only this time I swear he was playing rugby with the dust bunnies under the bed’s headboard. Well, at least he wasn’t pulling them out into the middle of the floor, like the mess he makes when he catches the ones that hide under the kitchen stove.

I shuffled into the den, where I thought I’d have some peace and quiet and be able to write. It was not to be. I sat down, proceeded to get online, to check my email for anything that just couldn’t wait ‘til after I’d written awhile -- only to find that the plot ninjas had somehow been contacted by the dust bunnies and bath mice. A class action suit was being threatened if I didn’t do something about “Sylvester the Bully”.

The plot ninjas were up in arms because Sylvester, a very powerful psychic feline, was interfering with their work, which they firmly reminded me was “our” work -- writing. Sylvester was putting out such strong negative interference that they couldn’t get through to me, nor me to them, most of the time.

As a result, I was unable to think clearly or even attend to a thought for more than a moment at a time before I’d loose track of it; and I was getting sick more often and for longer -- including TIA attacks; my imagination and motivation were failing and my writing languished. The plight of the bath mice and dust bunnies were just an outward sign -- a symptom, they said -- of what was happening on a larger and more important scale inside me. They reminded me that I wasn’t the only one being affected by Sylvester’s negative energy. Something had to be done, they insisted, before the situation worsened irreparably.

“Sylvester the Bully” had come to us as with the temperament of a little “Sweetheart and Gentleman”. But he had changed into a Bully, to the point where “Sylvester the Terrible” or “Sylvester the Monster” were more appropriate names. Not only was he harming us, he was overwhelming Samantha, our feline queen, who is prone to seizures.

A change had to be made -- for the greater good.

Today Sylvester moved on to a place where he could be the only cat in the family and hopefully get the love and attention he needs, without doing harm. God speed, Sylvester -- go with our love, blessings and best wishes. Thank you for being our companion, if even for a short time. Your gentle self will be greatly missed. May your new home and family be all you hoped for.

© Nanette Y. Francis, 2005. All Rights Reserved.