Fucking Murphy.

As Bill tells him, Murphy has “gentle brains”.  He is an overall pleasant and mellow fellow.

However, he has one major failing – June bugs.

For some reason, in Northern California June bugs arrive in July. 

It is July.

Our front door screen has a cat-attributable tear. 

June bugs are able to come through that tear and often they are assisted by one big-ass gentle brained orange tabby. 

Usually, when Murphy brings in a June bug, he plays with it.  Usually to death and then he has a buggy snack.  To each his or her own.  I’m fine so long as I don’t have to deal with the bug.

When he plays with it, we are on alert that there is a big brown disgusting bug in the house and we should track its whereabouts – as Murphy’s gentle brains can result in easy distraction (squirrel!). 

In the past, we have found that Murphy has brought his playmate into our bed and then forgotten to kill his bug buddy – leaving a nasty middle-of-the-night surprise for the hoomins. 

I vehemently object to having a June bug crawling on me during the night.

Therefore, we do our best to dissuade Murphy from taking his little friends into the bedroom.

Well, last night, I am getting ready to go to bed.  I do all my prep (and there is a lot; old age has made it more and more difficult for me to reach my ultimate goal of my pillow and my side of the bed). 

Anyhow, I’m finally in the bedroom and Murphy (who always waits for me at the bathroom door and escorts me into the bedroom, whereupon he usually jumps up on the end of the bed to get some well-deserved pets for a job well done.  As I plug in my phone to the charger, I notice that Murphy is fascinated with a fold in the bed clothes. 

Surely not. 

We had witnessed no bug play that evening.

Sure as shit.  There it was a big old June bug, very much alive. 

God (TIDBI) dammit Murphy.

He starts to play with it.  Fine.  Kill it and eat it and let me go to bed. 


He takes it off the bed.  Good boy, Murphy.  Now, kill it and eat it and let me go to bed.

The little fuck brings it back onto the bed.

Whereupon, he loses track of it and then interest.

God (TIDBI) dammit Murphy.

Now I have to go on a bug search. 

First, I go to the bathroom, and get some toilet paper.  (This fat old lady has no intention of touching that thing with her bare hands.)  It takes a while, but I finally find it and I grab it and down the toilet it goes. 

I expected Murphy to be upset with me – instead he’s thrilled.

Wasn’t that a fun game we got to play together, Mom?

No.  Murphy.  Definitely NOT.

Fucking cat.

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