Murder in the First Degree

Miss Kitty Plotting

My husband’s horse, Miss Kitty, is a big, sorrel, foundation quarter horse; she is a sneak thief and a plotter. She plots mayhem and, I am convinced, is capable of murder most foul.

Recently, she tried to kill me with a bag of concrete.

While Sherwood traveled the world Miss Kitty tipped over a ladder, broke onto the back porch, and bent a metal gate rail with her mind or her enormous block of a head. Then she dragged bales of hay out of the hay room with her teeth.

Then she tried to kill me.

When she couldn’t reach any more hay, she dragged a fifty-pound bag of Quick-Crete off the workbench.

She then dropped the fifty-pound bag into the goat’s water bucket. Where it became a stone or a rock or a stony rock of a stumbling block.

Here’s where it gets diabolical.

Miss Kitty, knowing that I would leave the enormous chunk of newly minted rock right where it dropped so that I could teach my husband an important lesson on how difficult my life is while he’s out traveling the world, stepped back and waited.

The lump of rock remained where it hardened.

It was only a matter of time before I fell over the rock lump and bashed knee, hip, elbow, and hand into the cement floor of the workshop. Somehow Miss Kitty knew. She knew that Mavis the Goat would be chasing me through the gate, trying to beat me into the feed room. She knew that I would forget about trying to teach my husband a lesson because I would be trying to teach that idiot goat a lesson. She knew that I would be distracted and fall over that concrete rock. She knew.

As I lay on the floor listening to my bones rattle and trying to decide if I’d broken my will to live, I cried and blamed my husband.

Miss Kitty is his horse after all.

Linda (Black and Blue) Zern