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How Time Flies (and not the way you think)
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In the middle of the night, when even the mighty huntresses are (supposedly) asleep, there was a thunk, kerpplunk and a rattle.

Shortly afterward I heard the click of the flap of the cat door. Oh, I thought, just another midnight sortie by the furry night owl, though she did seem to be moving rather fast.

Still later in the dark, I thought it must be morning soon, but when I looked at the spot where my clock resides, it wasn't there. It had fallen down behind the night stand when a clumsy cat had knocked it off, unplugging it in the process and sending it halfway under the bed.

I found the clock when I got up and tripped over the power cord. Yes, I'm awake now thankyouverymuch, though not by the process expected, but by the time machine flying across the bedroom floor.

Time stops flying when you're prone, staring up at a cat who is not sympathetic, just hungry.

Good morning, Rhubarb.

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