I hurled my body at her

Our house was recently disrupted by a four-pound bundle of orange and white fluff that we said we weren't keeping but whose name is now Bengal.

Once they get a name, they're staying, which is probably why Micah rushed to solidify the animal's position in our family.

I mean, Bengal, really? Totally rushed-sounding name.

Anyway.

Shortly after Bengal's arrival to the house, in those first few days when we were going to take her to the animal shelter and then nobody did and then mom said, "We've done everything we can to find her a new home" and I said, "No, we haven't!" and then she got a name ... yeah, those first few days - I wrote an e-mail to a very dear friend who I e-mail very often and I said:

"So Micah brought home a kitten the other day that someone left at his school. It's really cute and everything, blah, blah, blah. But I swear - this 4 pound bundle of fur has disrupted the entire balance of our household! And I'll tell you why.

In case anyone forgot, I have a German Shepherd who enjoys chasing and killing small (and large) animals. And she is obsessed with hunting down this kitten. So my usual routine of letting Skye out in the morning, taking her to feed horses with me, letting her run around before I pen her up for the day and then repeating the whole process when I get home from work has been completely disrupted by the fact that now I have to make sure the 4-pound creature with a target on her head is out of reach. It's annoying."

This morning, it became more personal because, literally, I gave a part of myself for the life of this kitten named Bengal.

I opened the front door this morning - purse, camera and miscellaneous items in hand - I let Skye out so I could put her in the pen and suddenly all I see is a little pile of orange and white fur waiting on the front step. And Skye.

It was a weird moment. Even Skye was caught by surprise. She's been hunting this thing for who knows how long and suddenly, it's waiting right in front of her. She stood over it, pawed it, and then playfully nipped at it.

The kitten cowered and sat still. Thankfully.

Then there's me. Hyperactive, over-imaginative, thinker. All I could see was a dismembered kitten, a bloody mess and my ass getting chewed for allowing Bengal to be slaughtered.

In slow-mo, I think I yelled and then I threw my body at Skye.

Stop.

At what point did I think that was a good idea?!

Why not try yelling. Or grabbing Skye's collar. Or, better yet, the kitten. All very novel ideas.

But no.

Out of all the plausible options, I chose launching myself with enough projection that I sent myself sprawling down the slight front step and onto the concrete patio. My purse and camera flew out in front of me and I landed in the fetal position.

It worked, which was my plan all along.

Skye was scared spitless and watched me tumble with a "WTF?!" look on her face, which gave the kitten enough time to scale a nearby tree.

I sat on the front step and tried not to cry.