#1: Panther vs. Cheetah

True story: I used to fantisize about being a crazy cat lady. You know the kind - wild hair, horribly mismatched clothes and the uncanny ability to speak my mind with no repercussions other than "oh, that's just Maureen, the crazy cat lady." Now to pull this off, I knew I had to actually own at least one cat. So one Saturday after a disparaging trip to the local Wal-Mart, I was inspired enough to steer my '92 Grand Am to the humane society, grab the first kitten I saw and bring it home.

The craziness that is Darcy (yes it's a male and yes I meant to name him that. Jane Austen anyone?) is a blog all its own. But let's just say that he did not get along well with my husband, who forced me to welcome a second cat into my home - this one a tortoise.

And thus began one of the most epic battles of all time: The Panther vs. The Cheetah.

With Lee in his kerchief and I in my cap, we'd just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.
When out in the living room there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

It was those g-damn cats going to town on my new white couch! Perched on either side, the little conniving fur devils had their claws out, furiously scratching away to see who could ruin my pride and joy the fastest. It was Panther vs. Cheetah - a fight to the death.

2nd Cover - same results.

And every night since then, they've attempted to engage in this ongoing battle. I sleep with one eye open, straining to hear the slightest sound of claw on cloth. And I've been known to jump out of bed and charge down the hallway banging a spoon on a metal pot, all the while yelling a stream of incoherent obscenities in the quest to protect my sacred cow.

You're probably wondering why I don't just get my cats declawed. It's because I'm cheap. Yep, I'm that cheap crazy cat lady that walks around muttering about white couches. So hide yo' kids, hide yo' wife - and have a happy new year.