Commentary by Danielle Wilson
I’ve recently decided that I’m amazing, and for your reading pleasure, I’m going to tell you why.
Our air conditioning had been out for three days straight as temperatures skyrocketed into the 90s. With the obnoxious humidity, the nights were no cooler, so I’d taken to sleeping mostly nude with a $12 Wal-Mart box fan set to high aimed directly at me. I’d also warned my husband Doo to stay as far away as possible, as his body temperature made me angry.
On the third night, I awoke around 1 a.m. from a fitful sleep and probable dehydration. I got up for drink of water, and passing by a totally worthless open window, heard a weird sound, like a cat being tortured. My immediate thought was that our tabby Ginger had been hit by a car and was dragging her maimed body back to the comfort of her family. Despite my lack of clothing and the knowledge that a main floor light was on, I sprinted downstairs to save her.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t find her, inside or out, and chalked the disturbance up as a heat-induced delusion. Sweating and frustrated, I collapsed into bed. But less than 10 minutes later, I heard the same odd noise. Convinced for certain now that something was afoot, I headed back down. This time I saw her immediately, walking the deck ledge outside our kitchen. She appeared fine. “Come here, Ginger,” I called as I opened the even more worthless screen door.
Have you seen the commercial where the lady accidentally ushers a raccoon into her house because she needs glasses? As I stepped out onto the deck, scantily clad and backlit for all the world to see, I realized suddenly that said kitty was in fact not Ginger, but some hideous doppelganger. My poor cat was cowering behind a nearby tomato plant. Naturally, I screamed, scaring the evil twin off the deck.
So basically I broke up a cat fight (or staved off a cat-astrophe! Or perhaps thwarted a cat burglary?) in nothing but a skimpy tee while battling heat exhaustion.
Yes, I am amazing. Peace out.