This morning while mom is getting ready for work, she hears a commotion in the living room.

I am in my window seat, licking traces of breakfast off my arm, when a tree rat jumps onto the window ledge, and starts punching the glass.

It scares me, I drop a tidbit to the floor, and it lands in the pile of boxelder bugs that mom has yet to sweep into the dustbin. We got so many boxelder bugs inside the house this spring, mom ran out of tissues trying to pick up onesies, and she took to just flicking them into a pile next to the wall. I killed a few myself, those who dared to tread onto my window seat. One press o' the paw and it was a done deal. We're quite a team, me and ma. But I digress!

I fly into a rage at the loss of my treat, and try to bite the squirrel but forgot there was glass between us, so I did a little kick boxing and hit the glass a few times. That scairt the little varmint but good.

Mom laughed and laughed and could not find her camera in time to film it. She then gave me a hug and said she didn't know I had it in me to kick like that, being what ... almost 18 years old ... and maybe we should apply for that TV show where you dance and win prizes.

I told her I'd be happier if she'd just dance the dustbin over and get that pile of bugs and my dead treat out of sight.