Bloody's Cat woke me up this morning with a startle.
Large Fry comes in..wailing. He is just wailing. He is incoherant. He is mumbling between tears that something has happened to what sounds like bloody cat. Or bloody's cat.
Me: Hrm. We don't HAVE a cat.
Large Fry: MAMAAAAAA Bloody's Cat! Bloody's cat! *insert words I can't even describe*
Me: Baby, what cat? What? What cat? What happened to the cat?
Large Fry: Bloody! It's bloody! Bloody!
Me: Oh god.
By now I am thinking that all the crap that we have watched on tv since he was a baby has left impressions in his mind that are surfacing. He is seeing things. Pictures in his brain, like Samara. He's going to start sending horses (or whatever animal is nearby) to start committing suicide in the lake. Fish are going to jump ashore. Boats run off corse.
Oh my god what have I done to my baby? What did I do?
I'm panicked. I'm flushed. Panick--flushed--panicked again. I'm cradling my baby swearing to all that is holy in every country that I am never EVER going to watch tv again. Ever. It's corrupting my child, his brain, and now he is seeing bloody cats in his sleep. Bloody fucking cats. His mind is damaged. I've done this. ME. I need to kick myself in my own ass.
This is when I look down. He's holding Woody. You know? Toy Story Woody? And Woody has no hat.
Fucking hell. Woody's hat. He's lost Woody's hat. It was under his pillow...