Testing Email Posting

I have been at my mother’s place the last few days, so since they don’t have IE, I have been unable to post. I decided to try out Blogger’s new email post tool instead, so if this ends up looking funny that is why.

The 100 Things post the other day really took it out of me! It’s quite difficult to write about oneself in that way, and I did want to make an effort to be personal, rather than just list a lot of trivia. So now you are probably psychoanalysing me. Hey, I pay my shrink $185 an hour to do that…

Last time I was at my mum’s, I wrote about the Hell Cat, Hendrix. She lulled me into a false sense of security tonight by purring and pretending to be all cuddly. Then she went for my wrist like it was the neck of a small rodent. Her teeth closed in, and despite her horrific screaching (sorry, can’t call it a meow), her eyes lit up in anticipation of the taste of blood. Before I could extricate my hand and arm, I sustained deep (and I am certain, lasting) wounds on my wrist and arm. That cat is not natural.

I have a story about the Hell Cat, other than her psychopatic habits. One night when I was still living at my parent’s I had locked my bedroom door, and the window was closed. All of a sudden I was woken up by the Hell Cat landing on my bed. I wondered how she had got in, but picked her up and put her out.

About half an hour later, I was woken up by the cat landing on my bed again. Repeated the putting her out routine, and double checked that I had closed my door and the window. 30 minutes passed… but this time I woke up in time to see the Hell Cat in mid-air before she landed on my bed. I was beginning to think that she was, in truth, a Hell Cat. Afterall, I had seen her eyes glow in the dark, and with bloodlust. The routine repeated itself over and over during the night.

It was not until morning, when I was well and truly freaked out, that there was enough light to see that she was coming in through my wardrobe, that was open just enough for a cat to sqeeze through. It turned out that across the other side of the hall, my sister also had her wardrobe open a little. Apparently, whoever built the house never bothered to seal the wardrobe properly, so the cat could jump up to the top shelf in my sister’s room, walk into the roofing above the hallway, then get into my wardrobe from the other side.

I know…why did I have to spoil such a good horror story with a mundane solution, right? The story would have been much better if I had discovered she really was a demon cat, and that my sister was lying in a pool of blood in her bed. Sorry.

I did bleed tonight though. Does that make it OK?


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May 2002
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