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| 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
