Pulling the cat's tail wasn't what I had in mind.
But Bea had other ideas.
The usual scenario at bedtime, until last night that is, included me or Mama taking Beatrice up to her room to read a few more books and then hit the crib hay. The other one of us would handle the lil' Bryce.
My first indication that things were going to go very wrong was when she shrieked and slapped at me unhappily in her room and then ran to ours, wanting to jump on our bed, which usually happens in the mid-mornings in her princess dress and/or a cowboy hat.
Our 300-year-old cat Chelsea curled up peacefully on the bed, her old bones --
-- jarred suddenly by the bouncing Bea.
Then ~PLOP~ Bea lands right next to Chelsea's tail and starts pulling on it.
Yanking actually. Yanking and giggling.
Chelsea hissed. Bea giggled.
"Stop it, Beatrice. You're hurting the kitty."
That means nothing to a 2-year-old child. Nada. She just giggled longer and louder.
More yanking and hissing and yanking and hissing.
The thing is, I didn't want to daddy-handle her and hurt her feelings and/or unintentionally hurt her period.
But she was out of friggin' control.
"Stop it, Beatrice!"
Finally I removed the old cat from the bed and that just made Bea all the more determined to follow kitty and yank-giggle-yank.
Before Bea tried to tromp downstairs after the cat, I grabbed her arms and gently (but firmly) guided her into her room where she proceeded to dissolve into a howling and thrashing melt down.
Straight through the center of the earth, out the other side, and back again.
I had to call Mama upstairs for backup geothermal HazMat control. Mercy.
Would this be a glimpse of the T2's? The terrible unbearable tantrum 2's that can liquefy anything in its wake?
Yes, but at least I've found another calorie burner for slowing metabolisms.
Always a silver lining, you know?