Puxa flew today.

She’s afraid of the broom, and should be after the mess she made with her litter box today. Scattered, stinky litter covered a quarter of the floor in the sitting room and smelt so bad we noticed it the minute I opened the door after church.

When I went searching for her and tapped her out of her hiding place under the cabinets, she jumped up onto the sink, clawed up the wall, hung by the window ledge, leaped into the corner, did a double back flip through the air to come to a screaming, hair-raising stop on the floor before ducking back into her killer-attack mode beside the stove. And then she did it again, all the while screaming like a five-pack-a-day female smoker with enough power in her lungs to stop a funk party.

I think maybe she doesn’t like men.

Or she has a demon.

I’m locking her out of my bedroom tonight and if it happens again, she can just stay outside until Rich and Rebecca come back.

I’ve already received one unsolicited offer to put her in permanent cat purgatory. It’s been declined for now...August and Rich and Rebecca’s return isn’t THAT far away...but today I seriously considered it!