Making my bed one recent morning. Shaking out a blanket and something fell out onto my side just south of a pillow. It was small, round, and brown. It had poky things sticking out of it. Turd. It had to be a turd. No, I wasn’t wearing my glasses, but what else could it be?! One of the kittens ate something poky and dropped a turd on the bed. . . . . All manner of emotions erupted at once. I did the only thing a person could do in such a situation. I flicked it over on my husband’s side of the bed. Now it was just south of his pillow. What the heck, I thought, as I helped it up.
Five seconds later he enters the room. Not wearing his glasses.
Having not obtained prior consent to having three kittens in the house at once, I stand on my side of the bed biting my lips and studying a spot on the ceiling.
“WHAT IS THAT?!! WHY IS IT ON MY PILLOW?!!!”
Shrieking, he sprints to the bathroom and returns with a handful of tissues. Squished in the tissue, he holds it safely at arm’s length, examining it accusingly.
“This better not be a . . . ”
Turd? I offer. In slow motion his head turns towards me . . . eyes widen, then narrow again to slits. The turd first bounces off my chest and then lands on the bed in front of me. Gasping, I reach down and flick it back towards him. He flicks it back over to my side. Back and forth. Back and forth.
STOP!! I can’t stand it anymore and leap for my glasses. With actual vision I lean over the bed and stare. What the . . . ! A small brown tear drop shaped creature with tentacles perches on the quilt. Plastic. A wave of relief. Then annoyance.
Later, under interrogation, the nine year old rightful owner identifies the “turd” as a derelict alien Infection Form, minus its eyeballs, from a Mega Bloks Halo Flood Hunter’s UNSC Falcon helicopter set.
Well, what happened to its eyeballs? I ask.
“I don’t know . . . but I saw Fezziwig chewing on it the other day . . . “