I spun on my tail, three or four times, like a revolvin' door doin' some major high-speed revolvin'. Finally my spinning slowed, and eventually I came to a full stop, landin' on my tummy with all paws spread eagle.
Slowly climbin' to my paws, I asked in somewhat of a daze, "Who? Why? WHA???"
Of course, nobody answered. MOUSES!
Comin' to my senses, I gave my head a good shake.
"Tess! You have some explainin' to do. MOUSES!"
Tess peered around the kitchen corner. "Is it gone?" she asked.
I very casually brushed an imaginary piece of lint off my leg. "Is what gone, pray tell. YOUR MIND?"
Tess scowled like only a Tess can do.
Then that's when I heard it. Heard what Tess had heard before. The squealing. The whining. The grating, nerve-wracking sound of a monstrous monster in my very own backyard.
Within moments, Tess and I both tore upstairs in terror. One could only imagine what ungodly horror was being unleashed outside.
Skiddin' to a stop at the top of the stairs, I slapped my forehead with one paw, and grabbed Tess by the tail with the other. "Tess, that was Oil Delivery Guy. He always makes that sound."
Tess' eyes grew wide. "Oil Delivery Guy is a monster?" she asked. "Why would the peeps buy oil from monsters?"
"Um, no. I'm pretty sure he's just some regular ol' guy. Those are the noises the oil makes as it runs through the hose and into the tank."
Tess thought about this for a moment. I could see the wheels turning. She opened her mouth as if to ask a question and then, thinkin' better of it - I guess, clamped both lips together, and simply sighed.
Tess and I trotted back downstairs to the kitchen. I could still hear Oil Delivery Guy outside, but now that I knew what the noises were, I was no longer petrified.
I guess Tess was no longer scared, either, 'cause she headed over to a bowl of dry kibble for a snack.
"Hey Tess," I began. "How come Oil Delivery Guy scared you like that?"
"Because he's scary?" she replied, with a lilt to her voice.
Tess looked at me expectantly, waitin' for me to finish.
"But Tess, I've seen you stare down a rocky. A cat who can face a rocky can certainly face Oil Delivery Guy."
And it was true. The part about the rocky, I mean, 'cause just the other night, some stupid peep...
And when I say some stupid peep, you can pretty much take your pick. My money is on Peep #2 but the truth is, neither one of 'em is the sharpest crayon in the pack. Not even if the pack is mostly empty 'cept for one.
Anyway, as I was sayin'... The other evening, some stupid peep left the outside door to the sunroom open, and when Peep #2 found it ajar, there was a rocky raccoon sittin' on the steps, lookin' inside. That's right, lookin' into the sunroom. Lookin' into my house, and everythin'. MOUSES!
Now you're probably wonderin' what this has to do with Tess.
Well I'll TELL you what it has to do with my sister Tess.
There was the raccoon, sittin' there, lookin' inside. But even though I'm pretty sure he was thinkin' about coming in, he couldn't come any further. And the reason he couldn't come any further was that sittin' just inside the door, was my sister Tess. And she was in fine form, for sure, hissin' and spittin' and givin' that rocky what for.
Now I'll be honest with you, all my fur-sibs and I have had plenty of rocky encounters. Usually we just watch 'em, and they watch us, too. Sometimes they ignore us, which is kinda rude, but you know... Whatever. But I've always found that if we respect them, they respect us right back, 'cept for the ignornin' part which, as I said, is kinda rude.
But that's outdoors.
No way, no how, are rocky raccoons ever allowed inside. It's the law. MOUSES!
And that's just what Tess was explainin' to the one sittin' at my back door.
I don't know if he understood the fine details or not, but he was gettin' Tess' general message, for sure. MOUSES!
Tess mulled over my point about her facin' down the rocky for a bit before replying, "Rockies are different. Rockies don't do that high-pitched squeal like Oil Delivery Guy. Also, rockies aren't monsters. They're just rockies. You know?"
And truth be told, I did know. For a rocky is a rocky, and Oil Delivery Guy... ISN'T.
Then at that very moment, we heard it. Breaking the silencce was the unmistakable roar of a giant, multiple-headed, snake-like tube-sucking monster, emanating from the family room.
"RUN!" Tess and I screamed in unison as we tore out of the kitchen and once again, up the stairs. Diving under a bed, I clasped my paws over my ears, not wanting to hear the horror of all horrifying horrors, happenin' downstairs.
"Seville," Tess whispered, tuggin' on my tail. "I think it's just the vacuum. It's probably safe to go back down."
I stared at my sister with both amazement and awe. Tess wasn't afraid of a rocky, nor of a vacuum, either. When I wasn't watchin', my sister had become some kind of ninja warrior muted calico amazon princess. She was SUPERCAT, with only Oil Delivery Guy as her Kryptonite.