I knew you all would want to know this.

Woke up only a few minutes ago and came downstairs. We have an array of animals in our house (and, technically, more than one family living here but that's for another time). Two of said animals are cats. I've never liked cats though both of these seem to like me. Our nine year old cat, Fuzz, likes to go outside and kill things.

This morning I came downstairs to find my daughter Amy and Will's daughter Desiree kneeling in the living room. I thought maybe they were praying or something but they said, "Why is there a dead bat on the floor?"

There it was. Dead. Living room floor. The other cat, Melody, walked by carefully, giving the deceased winged rodent a wide berth and proving beyond doubt (at least to me) that Fuzz was the executioner. The bat has now been removed.

Now can I have my coffee?

UPDATE: For you linguists, I've corrected the spelling of berth, above. I have it on good authority that wide births are no fun at all.

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