I awaken to a cat trying to eat my hair. As I sit up, I get the distinctly weird sensation of a couple of strands tugging free from a now-panicking feline's gullet.
"Hmmmph? Whazzit? Whattimeisit?"
Crud! The alarm clock is blinking; the power must've flickered last night. I pad over to the trusty PC and give the mouse a jiggle to wake it up. Seven o'clock.
Hey, I don't have to leave for work 'til 9:30! I have time for (drumroll, please) an actual sit-down bath! With bubbles 'n' stuff! Humming cheerfully, I toddle towards the bathroom. Unship the shower curtain, deploy the fluffy bath rug, get the water running, find the drainplug...
Find the drainplug...
Apparently one of the cats, and I'm not naming names since I didn't actually see it happen, but anyway, apparently Random Numbers, during her last game of Bathtub Thunderdome, felt that once she had vanquished the drainplug, the logical thing to do would be to drag its corpse off to someplace where it could be devoured at leisure, the way a leopard tows an impala up a tree. This resulted in a towel-clad, agitated Tamara searching known kitty lairs on her hands and knees with a SureFire flashlight in darkened house. No joy.
I will not be denied my bubble bath, however. Like they say, "Necessity is a mother_", and a plastic grocery sack, wadded up into a really small ball, makes an excellent ersatz drainplug.
All's well as ends well, I suppose, but Random Numbers must still sense mommy's displeasure, as she's still only peeking out from under the futon with a weather eye. Anyone want a cat? On rice, with gravy?