"If you ever come at me like that again..."

I mentioned awhile back that Mr. Man and I are planning to do some backporch/rooftop/fire escape gardening this year. We started tomatoes a little over a month ago, which might have been a little early (we don't really know what the fuck we're doing, to tell you the truth--I've grown a few things by seed over the years, but never tomatoes, and never with any kind of expertise) but I guess we'll see--in any case, just about every one of the 35 or so seeds we started germinated.

Anyway, the web site I looked at had said to seed them close together, then separate them a few weeks later, the separating being good for their roots. So I thought, since they probably sprouted about a month ago, that I would have done this awhile back, but they only seemed sturdy enough a week or two ago. So I've been planning on moving them for awhile, and kept feeling guilty about it, but not getting it done. Little did I know that drama and comedy would ensue during the process.

So I finally got around to it last night. Actually, I meant to do it all weekend but didn't, then I meant to do it early last night, but I didn't--so at about 1am this morning, I was in the kitchen, rooting up and potting tomatoes. Unfortunately, we haven't amassed enough plastic containers to move each into their own pots, so I only gave the biggest ones their own digs. The rest each gets their own little space in the seeding thingy.

Anyway, there I was, hunched over the kitchen table, when Bitsy (aka DevilCat, who I should mention has been trying to eat these fucking tomatoes since they sprouted--the unicorn piggy-bank is strategically placed so she can't get them--and had been excite-able the entire evening, as she's claimed the kitchen table as her territory) attacked me from behind.

I didn't see her coming at all. I've seen her jump onto Mr. Man's back from atop the fridge, but I'm pretty sure she was on the floor, and by the time I realized what was going on, she was dangling from the back of my person, one set of claws in the bottom of my hoodie, the other in the top of my pants, crying, nay, yowling, as if she were the victim in the situation, and not the batshit cat who'd just snuck up on me ninja-style, and launched herself halfway up my body.

I reached around and tried to get her off me but couldn't get her claws out of my clothes. I yelled at her "what the fuck are you doing?!" Neither of these worked, and I was in kind of a panic--Mr. Man was sleeping already, which was lucky for him, and I was strongly considering dropping trou when I realized I could achieve the same effect, with less potential embarrassment (my paranoid mind was already imagining Miss D waltzing in to find my ass in the kitchen--which would have been almost as funny as Rouge's recent bare-ass in the kitchen hilarity) by squatting down until she could stand on her back feet, relieving the pressure on her claws, and then extract them from my clothes. Lucky for her, she didn't even knick my skin.

Cats are crazy. Good thing she's cute. Don't fall victim to her cuteness, though--hide your seedlings away from this demon and whatever you do, don't ever turn your back on her.