My attempts to get a good night’s sleep were in no way enhanced by Athena’s decision to beat a mouse to death under my side of the bed at about 6 AM.
She’s been getting more and more successful at mousing lately. I don’t know how. My mental vision of the inside of Athena’s head is a kind of vaulted bone cathedral, columns of mandible and cheekbone soaring upwards to the arching buttresses of sinus cavities, cobalt light streaming in through two rose window eyes, the floor cleft by irregular stairways of palate and spine. It’s an open, airy place, in which the lone brain cell, clad in tiny monkish robes, solemnly reads out the liturgy, and paces through the vast emptiness, lighting tiny synapse-torches and praying to the God of Cat Brains* and hoping in quiet desperation that some day they’ll send him an acolyte.
And yet, somehow…she catches mice. Go figure.
*A deity which makes atheism easy