Poki paper

Last night I came home from a rare night out with a girlfriend during a "school night".  My friend's friend's daughter, her sixteen year old incredibly talented daughter, Zoe, was playing and singing at a pub in Santa Monica.  We had expensive drinks (Absolut Ruby Red and soda - my new fave drink) and stood on a sticky floor listening to her amazing talent.  It sooooooo reminded me of my single days when this was more of the norm.  Love it.  It's good to be reminded of the good times and also to get away from all my "stuff", if only for a few hours.  But, alas, I wasn't the only one yawning at 9pm...we were all feeling our non-early twenties age.  Sigh.

I come home feeling relaxed and mellow.  My man is chillin' on the couch, so I sit at the kitchen table (strewn with crayons, legos, homework, and bills - yes, back to reality) so I can check my email on my laptop before I go to bed.  I've got so much on my mind with the planning of this school fundraiser and I want to make sure nothing earth shattering is going on, even though I'm sure I will inevitably dream again about the darn fundraiser.  I can't truly escape it!  Urgh!

My man is working on his current papercraft model (a relaxing and cool hobby of his).  Right next to him on the floor, he's got a grocery store plastic trash bag full little tiny bits of paper cut from his latest creation.  I can hear my cat, Popoki, wrestling around the bag which I don't think twice about.

(yep, that robot is made entirely out of paper!)

A little background on my cat Popoki:  Like a lot of cats, she's kinda weird and rather OCD.  Like a dog and a ball, she brings you a string in her mouth to play with her.  She drinks out of a glass of water that I leave for her on my nightstand, not with her tongue, but with her paw - dip paw and lick water droplet, dip and lick, dip and lick.  Around 9:30 every night, she comes out of the bedroom and either screams at me or gives me The Stare that it's time to go to bed (am I that predictable?)  And, like a lot of cats, she likes to sleep in weird places, like my beloved cat Sydney who used to sleep in the bathroom sink.  Popoki just so happens to like sleeping on plastic bags.  Plastic crunchy bags filled with bits of paper.   

So, plastic bags.  She's playing in and around the plastic bag full of paper bits by the couch, when all of a sudden all hell breaks loose.  Popoki starts racing around the house with the plastic bag flapping behind her.  She races warp speed round and round the house, from the living to the dining room though the kitchen back to the living and around and around and around  and around and around.  She's like a bunny being chased by a cheetah, only with hundreds of tiny bits of paper scattered around the house in her wake.  She is absolutely fearing for her life.  Killer bag!

I am practically on the floor with tears streaming down my face from laughing so hard as I'm witnessing this.  Even after Popoki stops and fearfully crouches in the windowsill (with the bag still attached), in my mind I am still seeing and hearing the blur of the nails scraping, bag flapping, paper flying, running-for-her-life cat.  Maybe you had to be there?  But, OMG too funny.

I blow my nose, giggle some more, recount the hilarity with my man, wipe my tears, and head over to relieve Popoki from her plastic bag entanglement.  The bag's is like a leash around her shaking upper body, with the rest of the bag completely shredded and looking like plastic flames.   Run free Popoki, run free!! 

I know it's mean to laugh at the terror of another beautiful creature, especially my wonderful quirky kitty that I love so much.  But, oh man, was I grateful for the snot and tear inducing guttural belly laugh that melted away all of my stress and worry.  What a perfect and unexpected way to end an already nice evening.  If only she knew that, the great gift she gave to me - maybe it would've helped her the next day as she was so obviously traumatized.  At least she let me make it up to her with plenty of petting and a fresh glass of water for dipping.  Aaah, if only life was that simple for the rest of us.