Beyonce ... the Cat?

During the first year that we lived in our house, Mark and I had a very bad experience with a door-to-door vacuum salesman.  It was a horrible situation that basically consisted of him insulting me to my face and refusing to leave.  An HOUR AND A HALF later we got him out (after threats of calling the police) and now the short of it is this:  I refuse to answer the front door.

If I know you are coming, or if we are having a party or something, then of course I will open the door. But if I don't? No way.  What typically happens is this: if Mark is home then I go find him and whisper "someone is at the front door" (as if they can hear me from across the house and through the wall) and he gets up and answers it.  If he is not home then I become the ultimate ninja and sneak around to spy on the intruder while Merlin looks at me like I have lost my mind (and wondering why I won't let the stranger inside to pet him). 

Psycho? Yes. Am I going to change? Nope.

OK so I need you to picture this:  A few weeks before Christmas, on a random weeknight, I am sitting in our office at the computer.  I am in pajamas, no makeup, and generally looking like a hot mess.  Mark is in the living room watching some sort of boy TV while Merlin, as always, does everything possible to insure he is being continuously doted upon.

All of a sudden the doorbell rings.

The TV is muted.

Mark walks to the front door (which is in direct line-sight of the office) and looks at me.  I shrug because we aren't expecting anyone.  He shrugs back and proceeds to answer the ring.

He unlocks the deadbolt.

He unlocks the door.

I watch him as he slowly opens the front door and peers out.  He is completely silent and stands there for about three seconds and then slowly closes the door again.  He pauses for a moment and then reaches up and deadbolts the door.  He turns and gives me the strangest look and then proceeds to TIPTOE (!?) into the guest room to look out the window because it has the best view of the front of the house.

I proceed to flip.the.heck.out ... silently.

My internal dialogue went something like this:  "WHAT THE ****!?  If Mark is acting suspicious this is NOT COOL.  Oh crap the blinds in the office are open! :: leans closer to the wall to hide behind the giant computer screen ::  Where is Mark!? Why isn't he back yet!?  I do not want to get up or yell his name to find out what's going on because I don't want whoever is out there to hear me! What if they-"

About this time Mark emerges (still sneaking) from the guest room and motions for me to get up from the desk.  I shake my head.  Um, no, kthanks. 

He's back at the front door and in a full volume voice he says "Jessie, I think there is something you need to see.  There is a, um, cat at the front door."

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I am going to need to pause for a moment and have you go to the following blog post by The Bloggess entitled 'And That's Why You Should Learn to Pick Your Battles' (it should open in a new window). It is in my top 5 of the funniest things on the web.  I'll wait until you get back.

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No .. seriously .. go to the link .. you have to read it for the rest of this to even begin to make sense.

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So I slowly get up from the desk with images of mass murders dressed as Dr. Seuss in my head.  Mark has the strangest expression on his face and I am still being as quiet as possible.  When I get to the front door I stand on my tiptoes and peer out the peephole.  And this is what I see:

After a millisecond heart attack and a couple hard blinks, it registers.  I swing open the front door and proclaim "Beyonce!".  The offenders my best friend and her boyfriend immediately run around from the side of the house and Rebecca and I burst into laughter. 

Earlier in the evening, while perusing Pier 1 Imports, Rebecca and Jeff happened upon a giant hand carved wooden cat.  Seeing as we share the same humor, Rebecca's mind immediately went to Beyonce the giant metal chicken and that made it impossible not to buy said giant hand carved wooden cat. duh! ;)

So the purchase was made and the scheme was planned and NOW there is a giant cat at my door.  To get the full perspective of what I am talking about when I say giant wooden cat .. here are the mug shots:

note the height of the peep hole vs. the cat.

go to your front door if you need clarification of height.

This thing is so tall!  After the laughing died down and we got the deadweight inside, the issue became "where in the world am I going to put it!?"  It needed to go somewhere out of the way and, although our style could be considered slightly eclectic, it is definitely more Pottery Barn/West Elm vs. African Art/World Traveler/Tapestries.  I knew it wasn't a permanent resident but the location mattered.

At first I tried hiding it:

behind a curtain, perhaps?

And then I thought it would be funny if we stuck it somewhere that might make people jump:




Around the corner in the stairwell ..

 But neither of those locations really seemed "it".  Since it was Christmas, and the cat was gifted as part joke, part holiday fun, I decided on the perfect spot:




It's like "Where's Waldo" but with a giant cat instead.

And so there Beyonce remains; peeking out from behind the tree to observe and judge.  I'll admit it is an ugly, creepy statue but it is kind of growing on me.  When Rebecca and I initially joked about "totally needing a Beyonce", a small paperweight metal chicken is what I had in mind.  I should have known better.

So there you go.  From my wonderfully twisted sense of humor to yours.  Merry Christmas :)