For what must be the hundredth time tonight, I lift the bottom of the comforter and peer into the darkness under the bed. I know it's foolish to be scared of a monster under the bed, but no way is that the air conditioner, sorry Mom. All I see are dark lumps, clothes and toys hastily shoved beneath the bed on a busy day. I turn the light back out and snuggle up against my pillow. Rrrrrrrip. I sit bolt upright, sheets falling to the floor. Something is scratching at the bottom of the bed. Again. I don't want to call Mom. The last thing I need is for her to walk in here all in a huff and tell me it's just the air conditioner. I shiver. Getting out of bed again, I tiptoe across the hardwood, being careful to avoid the spots that creak. Standing by the closet, I observe the situation. I finally decide on a plan involving a very bright flashlight and way too much danger. I rummage through the closet until I find the flashlight and summon up all my courage. Which, by the way, isn't much. Taking a deep breath, I walk to the bed. Suddenly an inhuman scream cuts the silence like a dagger. I, contrary to what people may say, DID NOT shriek and scream like a girl. I'm way too manly for that. Ok, fine, maybe a little. Anyway, the monster shot out from under the bed and launched itself at the blinds, growling like a werewolf. Finally, Mom walked in and turned on the light. There, with its claws hooked deep into the fabric of the curtains, was a tiny gray and white kitten. And with that I promptly passed out on the floor.