I woke up screaming the other morning

Seriously. Not metaphorically. Not in my imagination. Actually, truly, 100% reality-based screaming.

It’s important that you understand that I am not a screamer by nature. If I were in a horror movie, I wouldn’t be the Scream Queen. I’d be the one who ducks and hides when I hear a weird noise and then peek out to see what’s going on. I’m pretty good about facing my fears. I’m not good at playing the damsel in distress. I learned a long time ago that you should rely on yourself first and foremost, and that your brain is the greatest weapon you can ever possess.

That being said, I woke up screaming the other morning.

I know exactly what it was that prompted the outburst. My bed is in front of a window. Just outside that window is my balcony fire escape. On the second floor of my building lives a strange little gnome-like woman. She has at least two cats. They manage to “escape” every now and then, and they like to come visit my window. My window sash is usually open about 8 inches, with a screen in place. When the kitties come a callin’, I have to either close the window or pull the security gate across it so that the very unhappy Daphne and the mildly unhappy/mainly intrigued Phizz and the Second Story Cat cannot get to each other.

This particular day, the white kitty had come by to say “howdy” pretty early…like around dawn. I closed the window as usual, and went back to sleep. A little later I woke up, cat was gone, so I opened the window again. Sometime later, I heard a loud noise and opened my eyes to see Daphne jumping back from the window. I can’t tell you now what the noise was, but my first thought was that the cat had returned and was ripping the screen with his claws. I screamed and started to sit up. Before I could fully finish the first scream, Daphne went flying off the bed and running into the living room. My mind’s rationalization for this behavior was that the cat had gotten in the window and was now after Daphne and that there was going to be one hell of a cat fight. This prompted a second, higher pitched scream.

Almost immediately, I realized that the window was intact; there was no alien cat around; and that given the slatted sleigh bed headboard on my bed, there was no way anything could have gotten through the window and given chase that quickly.

I snapped my mouth shut and listened. I was desperately hoping that no one would come knocking on my door. After about five minutes, my concern about being embarrassed was overcome by my annoyance that NO ONE HAD COME TO SEE IF ANYTHING WAS WRONG. Visions of Kitty Genovese danced through my head. I could just imagine the police knocking on doors, “Did you see or hear anything unusual?” “Well, there were two really loud terrified screams, but I figured (a) it wasn’t my problem, (2) someone was having a really good time or (D) someone else would see what was happening.”

I’d really like to be shocked by this, but, alas I am not. We really have become a nation of apathetic, narcissistic drones. Not everyone, of course. I am so relieved to be able to say that I am not prone to this behavior. In fact, I’m sometimes a little too quick to dive into a situation without fully thinking through the implications. Fortunately, I have never come to harm as a result of this, but I can’t say that I never will. But in weighing the choices…living as a coward or getting injured as a person who refused to stand by and do nothing…I’ll take the second option every time. I know it’s a ridiculous concept to even think that I can change the way people think or react, but at the same time, I know that I cannot change who I am or the way I feel when I know or think someone’s suffering as a result of someone else’s actions.

I’m not, nor am I trying to be, a martyr. But I do believe that nobility and honor are not concepts best left to the days of King Arthur. If each of us would just take a small step towards discarding our shell of comfort and complacency and instead do what we know to be the right thing, I think we’d all be amazed at the immediate, palpable difference.

And that is my soap box sermon for today. Stay tuned for next week’s sermon, “Godiva or Neuhaus: which is the superior gourmet chocolate?”

OMG, it's been another year already!

My little girl, (Princess) Daphne Laurel turned FOUR on Tuesday! I swear I just posted mention of her THIRD birthday just a short time ago! My baby is growing up. Soon she'll be leaving for college and then she'll get married and have babies of her own and I'll be a grandmother and...

Oh wait. Daphne is not only a cat, but a "fixed" cat at that.

Never mind!

In tribute to the little monster (who I love dearly), I shall relate the story of how she came to be named Daphne Laurel...

First you must understand that as a Sagittarian, I enjoy a special relationship with animals. We understand things that most people don't "get", like the fact that if you ask an animal its name, it will tell you.

Daph was a homeless kitten living under a trailer in NJ with her mother and the last living sibling of her litter (the others having been on the wrong end of car accidents) when I found her. After coaxing her out with food and water, I scooped her up and along she came to the home of the friend I was visiting.

When friend and I had to go out later, I told then Nameless Cat before we left that whenever she was ready to tell me her name, I would be ready to listen.

Subsequently, friend and I returned to the house, and as I was walking up the stairs to the bedroom that Kitten and I were sharing, I looked up at the closed door and very distinctly heard "Daphne".

Lest you think I am schizophrenic or just plain crazy, let me assure you that I do not "hear voices" or believe that The Government is monitoring my thoughts through the television (I happen to know that they do it through bugs planted in my apartment and orbiting satellites). On occasion, however, there are things that "come to me" through whatever telepathic medium. (Were I not so damn lazy, I could probably hone this "sixth sense" and put it to better use. But I am so damn lazy, and this post is not about me, so I'll shut up now.)

At any rate, as soon as she named herself, the myth of Daphne and Apollo dusted itself off from some recess of my mind and made explanation of the moniker...

Daphne was a nymph, the daughter of the river god Peneus. She wanted nothing more of life than to remain a chaste huntress like her goddess, Diana. Through a series of typical Greek god mischiefs, the nymph one day found herself being relentlessly pursued through the woods by Apollo. Daphne was terrified, fearing her maidenhood be lost and all with it. She sped through the forest as long as she could, then, feeling the closeness of her pursuer as exhaustion overtook her, raised up her arms and called out, "Father! Please help me!" Even as the words were barely escaping her lips, her limbs turned to branches, her feet rooted themselves in the earth and her body covered itself with bark and there she stood, transformed into a tree. Apollo, deeply saddened by his loss, declared that the tree be called a laurel and would be his tree.

Now all this went through my head in a matter of seconds. By the time I had walked the ten feet to the bedroom, I had already distilled down the essential message and translation of this myth to understand its relationship to the kitten Daphne:

A virgin forever (no sex for my little girl!), Daphne is rescued by a force greater than herself (that'd be me) from a fate worse than death (literally).

Grandiose? Perhaps. But that's the true story behind Daphne Laurel's nomenclature.

In further tribute, here is a recent photo of The Gorgeous One who takes after her mother in laziness (she's the one on the left):

Please forgive the blurriness...I wanted the picture of a few seconds earlier when Phizz had his paw over hers (awww, how cuuuuute!), but as soon as I turned on the camera they both popped up their heads to see what was going on. I had to quick snap this shot before they became camera-aware again.

BTW, those are Mommy's 500 thread-count sheets and raw silk pillows the two of them are happily napping on. If they've learned nothing else, they've learned to appreciate the quality and luxury of the lifestyle Mommy has accustomed them to. And, best of all, since Mommy is the idiot who goes out to work every day, they actually get to enjoy the quality and luxury of the lifestyle than Mommy does.

Exactly WHO is the pet here???

But I love the little squeakers more than almost anything, and wouldn't part with them for the world.

Happy birthday, my sweet one!

*Interesting side note: Sagittarians are depicted by the Greek centaur, descendants of Centaurus, who in some versions of the myth, was the son of Apollo and Stillbe. Stillbe was also a daughter of Peneus, sister of Daphne, and apparently the one that didn't get away!