And it did when she returned, fuming, and I had no choice but to claim them as my friends. I made their excuses, I took their flack. And they left, elated and floating in party business, while my world crashed down. They had forgotten their cats, though, and to clean up the sick. She and I scrubbed with soapy sponge as the cats of all shapes and sizes (lots were as small as insects) rubbed against our ankles.
Then the ringleader of those who meant business returned, pleasant and apologetic, which I accepted graciously. Until my beloved pet mouse was grabbed, and its feeble head torn from it's tiny body.
'Just to let you know what will happen to you if you damage or lose any of my miniscule, or otherwise, kitties'.

