Pillow Cats is the WORST GAME EVER

One sun-shiney afternoon, I was babysitting my B.F.F. Otis, and his friend from school, Ella.

Ella's mom is a vetranarian, so naturally they have pets, and Ella's favorite is cats -- my absolute least favorite animal on the planet next to mosquitoes,  maggots, and the blobfish, see picture below.

"Let's play Pillow Cats!" Ella squeals, with her little fists in the air, balled up in jubilation. 

Blobfish--an actual fish.

I've babysat for Ella before, and her suggestion for Pillow Cats as the game, came as no surprise. Here's how to play pillow cats:

1.) Coat the T.V. room floor in a sea of pillows

2.) Crawl around on pillows meowing. That's it...I'm serious. 

Last time we played Pillow Cats, I was named "Mommy Pillow Cat" and I sat my rump upon the largest pillow while Ella and Otis meowed around me and I pet their heads awkwardly as they meowed in my face. It wasn't exactly fun, but it wasn't hard either and they seemed content, which is the most important thing. 

THIS TIME, HOWEVER, I was not allowed to play Mommy Pillow Cat; Ella condemned me to be the all important "Tree."

"What does the tree do?" I asked.

"You stand there like this," She said, as she stood up tall with both arms held up--fingers spread apart for branches.

"Can't I be a sweet bush? Or a super-cool shrub?" I suggested, trying to make them both sound as appealing as possible, because being either I would be able to sit down, and not have to hold my arms in the air. 

"No," Ella replied curtly. "I want you to be a tree."

"Yeah," nodded Otis, "Be a tree." So it was two against one, and I had no choice but to comply.

I had been standing in the corner of the room as the tree for about two minutes and my arms were aching, Otis's Dad walked into the doorway with a confused look on his face.

"I'm the tree," I explained, looking like Christ the Redeemer as the two children were crawling around meowing in front of me, it must have looked odd, to say the least.

"Have fun guys!" He said quickly, and ran up the stairs. 

"I have an idea!" I yelled, and the meows subsided, "How about an evil witch casts a spell on the tree, and the tree chases the cats and tries to eat them!" I thought this was an excellent idea, and I could tell Otis did too; He stood up in his striped little pants, readying himself to run. Plus he LOVES witches. Loves them. He was a witch for Halloween.

"No." Ella shot me down, "That's scary, and there aren't any witches in Pillow Cats." 

me.

"I think it could be fun." I defended my idea, and took the chance to put my arms down. Honestly, if any fairytale creature were to be present in Pillow Cats, I thought it for sure would be a witch, witches and cats are like peanut-butter and jelly, Richard Simmons and sweatbands, or re-fried beans and farts, the two clearly go hand in hand.

"Trees don't talk," she reminded, "Or yawn." And I closed my mouth at the end of a yawn, and put my arms out, because I was the tree, and trees don't talk.