Early this morning, from my mega-comfort bed, and above the low hum of the white noise machine to which I sleep, I heard a rustle in the kitchen. Since all the burglars in town know that I have nothing of value, I assumed the commotion to be the extended midnight monkey-hour of my cats. But what were they doing? I dismissed the fantasy that they were making me breakfast- it didn't sound like they were making scrambled eggs, and I never heard the toaster pop up. Plus, I never got the breakfast. 

It's not unusual that my cats make some disturbance in the midst of my attempts to sleep. Normally they chase each other, zig-zag, squirrel style throughout the apartment. But this was loud. At 4:30 I was sufficiently annoyed that I stepped into the 50 degree morning air of my bedroom and out to the hall to scold and perhaps cat-spank  my pets. Of course, they made themselves scarce. I could find no evidence of their activities. I shuffled, goosebumped, back to bed.

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Later...

I wake up again at 8:00. Hop in the shower, which was set to scalding. Following my shower, and always next in my routine, is the part where I hunt down my bottle of Lexapro, pop the top off, select the day's victim, toss it into my mouth, swallow, and then cross my fingers against "sexual side effects". Oh, but this morning things would be different. Slippered and robed, I make my way to the kitchen counter- my in-home pharmacy. It became clear that either the burglars mentioned above learned of my "stash" and absconded with all of it, OR i had discovered the night-time outcome of the project begun by my cats. Nothing was left in the bin. My Xanax? Gone. Advil? Gone. Gas-x? Gone. Vitamins? Gone. LEXAPRO? GONE. 

I began my pharmaceutical Easter egg hunt in earnest. I can say this: My cats have a knack for scatter. I found my Xanax under the sideboard table. My vitamins were located in back of the refrigerator, and so on. My morning's objective, the Lexapro, was more difficult to locate. This lovely little bottle, after a thorough search of the kitchen and surrounding areas, was located (unharmed) under my couch, all the way to the back.

While there were no ads for 5-HTP or St. John's Wort left for me to discover, it's clear my cats have an opinion about the treatment of SA. My cats, I think, are homeopaths. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.