One night, when I was a kid, I heard very distinct scratches coming from under my wooden bedframe. It was late, a the night was quiet. The frightening noises resonated all the more eerily. I got so scared that I didn't dare opening the large drawer where the scraping noises seem to originate from, leading to a most shaky night of sleep..
On the morrow's eve, I had almost forgotten all about it. However, the scratches resumed nightly. For sure these claws had to belong to some frightening variation of closet monsters I'd - only recently - grown quite unimpressed with, having repeatedly failed to encounter one at all yet, be it a little tiny one..
On the third night though, I spent some time gathering every once of bravery within my preteen body & soul, and accepted to face my inner fears. After a few scratches slashed the silent darkness of night, I jumped out of bed, switched the light on and pulled the drawer open with the most resolute energy.
I couldn’t help being startled by the sight as it revealed itself to my eager eyes: at the very back of the drawer, behind Monopoly, Boggle, Risk & other board games boxes, a stray kitty had chosen my very room to give birth to 3 adorable kittens. I was so ashamed I’d be shaking with fear for claws I had pictured as long as scythes, or at least as Freddy Krueger’s nails, that I closed the drawer, turned the light off, and slid into the most serene night of sleep in 3 very long days. Counting scratches instead of sheep worked pretty well that night, as attempting to guess & picture the little critters’s motions inside their wooden home turned out to drain my brain without delay.
On the fourth night, I must admit I felt kind of disappointed when I found out that my kitty had left with the kids. How could she have guessed so soon & without outside help that I wasn’t the father type?