We barely escaped alive.  I'm speaking of two nights ago when our normally docile Olivia cat "went monkey on our ass" to quote a recent saying of Blair's, and attacked.

It wasn't her fault. Since her dental surgery, she's had to take these huge horse pills twice a day. We'd almost gotten it down to a science. Blair scooped her up, I stood behind them and opened her mouth, popped the pill in, and done. Took all of 5 seconds. Except two nights ago we weren't quite sure the pill had gone down and so repried her mouth open to check. We didn't have a firm grip on her and I could see the panic in her eyes as we tried to peer down her throat and then she got a paw loose.

"Abort! Abort!" I said.

"No, I've got her," said Blair, trying to get a grip on a squirming cat.

I tried to help, but she was already mostly free and used our hands and necks as grip pads for her claws to launch herself to the ground. I escaped with only a few scratches on my hands and arms. Blair looks like he came under mortar attack. His neck has two sets of deep puncture wounds, making it look like he was set upon by vampires.

I felt bad for Olivia that we'd scared her. But later that night when I walked into the bedroom, she was already there, curled up tight against Blair's back, one paw stretched out and resting lightly on his shoulder.

"It was so sweet," I told him the next morning.

"Please," he said. "That paw was just her way of saying, 'Check out my kill.' We're just a bunch of prey to her."

The pills end Thursday. We're all looking forward to it.