It was Saturday morning. I had no meetings, no soccer games, no classes to take kids to – nothing. I could sleep in.

I never get to sleep in.

Knowing all this created a delicious, warm feeling within me. Then I realized the warm feeling was about to be related to my bladder, so I got up and went to the bathroom. THEN I got the delicious feeling of anticipation as I padded back to bed. Ahhhh.

My plan was to attack at the break of dawn, when he would least expect it. I lay in wait, carefully camouflaged against a dark background. The target rose right on schedule and walked to the noisy small water room, then returned to my attack place. He never saw me. All was in readiness. I purred quietly in anticipation.

As I slid between the still-warm flannel sheets I began to giggle deliciously. This was going to be great. I snuggled in and arranged the blankets just so. Then, in an act of supreme hedonism, I slid a spare pillow between my bony knees, thus guaranteeing me at least two hours of dreamy, wonderful snoozing.

My targets lay beneath a thin cover. I spotted them easily. Two neat rows of five each, parked side by side at the base of the bed, like battleships at anchor.

I had studied the attack of Pearl Harbor by watching a dreadful movie (Ebert only gave it one and a half stars), so I knew how to proceed. I would inflict maximum damage by using surprise and overwhelming force, while avoiding love triangles at all costs. My claws were ready. My fangs were ready. I was ready. In fact, I was in mid-air, hurtling towards my destiny…

Time is somehow compressed when you’re dreaming. I was walking down palm-lined beaches, smelling the tropical air and the beautiful flowers that were everywhere. It was paradise…

My timing was perfect. No alarm had been raised, and the tender, juicy targets were just lying there at the end of the bed, stationary. They took no defensive measures of any kind. From high altitude I rolled in, claws extended, out of the rising sun…

The drool from my grinning, snoring mouth was just beginning its journey to the pillowcase when all hell broke loose. From out of nowhere, red hot pokers sank into the flesh of my warm, slumbering feet, accompanied by a ferocious squeal that could best be described as “Bonsaiiiiimmeeeooowwwww!!”

My feet recoiled in horror, dragging my assailant up under the covers to the middle of the bed. A mad thrashing commenced, reminiscent of several angry cougars stuffed into a sack. I tried to dislodge the talons but my attacker doggedly (?) (hey – ‘cattedly’ doesn’t work) held on and enjoyed the ride. I may have uttered something like “Goodness gracious!” I can’t remember.

I have never had so much fun in my entire, short life! It’s not often you get to wrestle big toes under the covers like that, and it was truly epic how they thrashed about. It was like having ten tethered mice right there in front of me, unable to escape my evil clutches! It was really fun chasing them around in the dark, biting and slashing…probably the best morning I have ever had.

Battle damage assessment continues as I wash the sheets in cold water. I have to admit it was a surgically precise strike, with very little collateral damage. The scabs, scratches and fang marks should heal without scarring, I think.

It’s the psychological damage that is taking its toll…

No more lying in bed, dozing, while a kitten sleeps contentedly on top of the blankets. As I fall asleep, the slightest touch causes me to lurch my feet higher under the covers, whimpering. I awake in the night, sweating.

This was a day when I seriously considered calling the SPCA and making an appointment.

A day which will live in infamy.