When Deviled Eggs Attack

            I was attacked in my bed the other night.

            I was minding my own business, dreaming away a nightmare-less slumber that was beautifully lacking hair spiders or anything of the sort – when – OUCH! I rolled over and felt something poking me in the side.

Groggily groping around the upper waistband of my granny panties I reached down and pulled a cone shaped object off of my side.  Without my glasses, I could barely make out the culprit of my pain.  It was the large half of a plastic Easter egg.

            I had just been attacked by a Deviled egg…in my bed.

            “PHOEBEEEE!”  I yelled at my cat who undoubtedly planted the egg in my bed after watching me take a stomach pill and two sleeping pills and who obviously thought I would sleep through the night as she used my stomach as an eggy hockey rink. 

Throwing the egg in the floor I plopped back down on the bed, face-first and immediately felt a sharp pain stab the left side of my chest.  I knew what it was even before I awkwardly rolled over and removed it.  The Deviled egg had another half.  And it just bit my boob.

Shrieking, I threw it across the room like a steroid-induced Major Leaguer. 

            A furry thump hit the floor. 

I laid in bed on my back and stared at the slits of ceiling visible from between my four poster bed as Phoebe, reunited with her “kill” systematically smacked the egg halves against my closet door in pure kitty joy. 

            Peter Rabbit is now on my hit list.