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The Sequence Of Events

So it kinda went down like this, in case the police ever ask.

First, my mom called.

My phone was in my pants. We had, however, moved to the No Pants Portion Of The Evening. (This is not a euphemism. I just detest pants and take them off around eight-ish, where I move to pajamas or yoga pants.) So the pants were on the dresser.

To reach my pants, which were now playing a merry tune and vibrating, I lunged off the bed and fumbled for said pants.

The phone, like a greased otter, slid out of the pocket, skidded across the dresser, and fell down behind it.

I flung myself over the top of the dresser and pressed my eye to the crack between dresser and wall, attempting to make out the name on the front. Had it been my agent, I would, of course, have torn the dresser from the wall with super-human strength, but it was my mother. I love my mother, but my agent makes me money.

I went into the stoffice to ask Kevin to help me move the dresser to get my phone back. (It’s a BIG dresser. With attached mirror and things.)

Kevin managed to pry the dresser away from the wall a few inches, but in order to reach the phone, he had to climb over a wingback chair wedged in the corner.

Behind the wingback chair is the domain of Cassie, a feral rescued cat that never did adapt to humans. (Her brother acclimated fine, so go figure.) Eventually we will need to sedate her and have her back shaved, owing to a growing mat there, but I keep hoping we’ll get her calmed down enough that I can get a brush to her, as she does allow me to pet her occasionally. But this is neither here nor there.

What happened when Kevin put his foot into Cassie’s realm was that the cat exploded. A black-and-white blur came over the back of the chair, launched off Kevin’s shoulder, knocked most of the contents of the nightstand to the ground, banked off the bedpost and went down the hallway in a streak of fur. Kevin fell backwards and narrowly missed being impaled on the somewhat ragged tail-spines of a largemouth bass that is stuck to the wall with a hand coming out of its mouth. (It’s art. Don’t ask. No, really, it’s attached to a canvas with block prints of naked women, so it’s totally art. I swear.)*

The cat tearing down the hallway set off the beagle, who lunged from under the bed after the cat, baying hysterically, which did nothing for the cat’s nerves. Cat and beagle streaked down the hallway. Cat made the turn successfully and went off down the steps. The beagle…did not.

Unfortunately, his failure to make the turn meant that he hit a litterbox. At that time, Benjamin T. Cat, undisputed ruler of the household, was in the litterbox, taking care of some fairly serious business, which meant that he was staring into the middle distance with an expression of vague concentration, and then a beagle hit him.

At this point, the beagle’s life was forfeit. There is really no getting around that fact. Even given my decided partiality for Ben, I must point out that no jury in the world could convict him.

For Kevin and I, trying to get to the phone, all we heard was “YAWP!” Then the beagle tried to snarl. Then he went “YAWWWWP!” again, somewhat more shrilly.

I poked my head down the hallway to see Ben, with a more-than-usually grim expression, sitting in the hallway, while the dog cowered in the doorway of one of the kids’ rooms.

The phone was retrieved, the dresser replaced, Ben stalked back to finish the business that he had been engaged in when he was So Rudely Interrupted, and I called the idiot dog to see what had happened. I was expecting a clawed nose, which is not terribly uncommon, although the beagle has learned in the last year or two not to screw around with Ben.

His nose was fine. He put his head in my lap and looked piteous and I told him he was a very stupid dog but we loved him anyway and somewhere around there I realized that my hand was covered in blood.


Ben had torn up the beagle’s ear. It was almost surgical–one claw, inserted in end of long floppy ear, one claw removed, beagle dealt with, and now back to the litterbox.

Like I said, no jury in the world…

It bled like crazy for a minute or two—head wounds and all—but wasn’t bad enough to require more than cleaning. Unfortunately the beagle did one of those floppy-eared headshakes, which meant that a spray of red went all over the carpet, my pajamas, the walls…

The carpet was trashed already, but I do not wish to spend the year until we lay out for a replacement walking on beagle splatter wounds, so we got down on our hands and knees—assisted by a helpful and worried beagle—scrubbing the stuff up.

Then I called my mother back. Then Kevin went down the hallway and cleaned up the drips.

So, y’know. If they ever ask about the blood splatter in the bedroom. That’s how it happened.


*Not MY art. Somebody’s else.

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.

It's an Ursula story.

I believe it!

No jury in the world indeed.

*giggles hysterically*

So glad I was not eating or drinking when I read this.

I was. And now I must change the bedding.

I swear, I read the title and the first line to my husband, who immediately asked "What is Ursula doing now?"

I read the first line to my husband and he immediately settled in for me to read him a good Ursula story.

I could hardly get it out about halfway through from laughing so hard. It's a good thing the neighbors are having a party, because it's way too late to laugh this loud.

Ow, my side hurts. And my eye, from wiping away tears after putting on lotion. Oh dear. I feel another gigglefit coming on...

Note to self: Do NOT call Ursula during the No-Pants part of the evening.

One of our pups managed to put a tiny hole in his ear that bled like crazy. Then he shook his head like a rattle and splashed blood all over my glasses, my face, and the nice, white martial arts uniform I was getting ready to put on. After a futile attempt to remove the stains, I went to class in a cold, wet, blood stained gi and no one believed anything I said in explanation.

I really wish I'd had your story to tell. They still wouldn't have believed me but at least it would have sounded like I had made an effort to tell an entertaining lie.

Hydrogen peroxide is good for getting blood out of a gi. Or really any white clothing. I'd be careful using it on colors, I don't know if it would bleach them.

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"Do your ears hand low, do they waggle to and fro? Can you tie them in a knot? Can you tie them in a bow?" *beth hums the rest that she forgot the words to*

(Poor, poor beagle! Poor Ben! Poor Ursula and Kevin! Poor Cassie, for that matter.)

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Your "life in the Ursula household" stories make my day. This one I especially found amusing because it reminded me of the time our youngest cat blew up my nose.

Can't breathe...laughing too hard...send help!

I just laughed so hard I cried. Thanks, I needed that.

Gotta stop sipping coffee while reading LJ. Best description was Ben contemplating the middle distance while taking care of litter box business. Anyone who owns a cat is familare with that look:)

You need to come visit and meet the zoo. And see the birds.

BRB, rolling on floor laughing while my cat judges me. XD

Ahahahahahahaha *gasp* ahahahaha.

I was both eating lunch and at work. I am now getting funny looks. It is worth it.

Ok. This story had me laughing as much as your tick removal story.

sounds just about right for this house too

you need to read Stupid Things My Cat Does on facebook...the posts by Lauri.
Sharing this with my beloved

EPIC! *wipes tears of laughter*

This is momentous. It dwarfs 'Dogs in Elk.'

I must disagree. This does not have multiple dogs soaked in elk effluvia. Just blood in the bedroom.

What, you've never read about Dogs In Elk? Here, I give you a link. (I've recovered from laughing hysterically here, and from laughing hysterically re-reading this, in all the places it has filtered to. This seems to be the best archive of it; it includes a mock-up of the scene, and a link to a message from the original tale-teller confirming the validity of the story:

About three lines in, I started laughing so hard I cried. My husband was very concerned, but rather impressed that I managed to read the rest of the entry with tears streaming down my face. He read a few lines, said "ah, you're reading Ursula," and went back to his computer. :)

Well fancy seeing you here... :P

Oh dear Lord, please tell me that there is photographic evidence of the "Bloody Ursula Room" (or at least the pajamas before they get washed) that you'd be willing to show at a convention! :-0

Poor puppy. Poor Cassie. Has the bleeding stopped? Has the domain been reclaimed?

I'm seriously dying of snorting over here. :)

Oh I must hear the Tick Removal story!!

Awesome, made me snort coke out my nose :)

I see someone mentioned Dogs in Elk - but have you read I Has A Sweet Potato?

How is this MY LIFE?

I PDF'd that story, and re-read it from time to time. Along with Neighborhood Hazard, wherein a motorcycle rider encounters a demonic squirrel, and the Beet Pulp Safety Warning story (another squirrel, but less traumatic).

Animals is fun.

*rocking back and forth, hands over mouth, tears streaming down face* *send halp*

A classic comedy routine!

Having been around several floppied eared dogs and the encounters of said ears with cat claws, I know that bleeding well. Along with the whining and pathetic looks that go with it. I don't think I've ever seen any other wound that produces that much blood for that small a wound!

One of these days we need to put cameras in your home to tape these events for prosperity.


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