Praise Jesus and pass the ammunition

Around here, a crash in the middle of the night is usually a cat or my wife.
I roll over. She’s still asleep. And all three cats are on the bed.
Another noise.
Great.
I pull my gun from the nightstand, flick off the safety, and walk down the hall.
I see a shadow. It moves, and I empty the clip.
A body falls.
I reach for the light switch, flip it on, and discover I’ve just blown away Jesus Christ.
“Maybe they’ll blame Texans this time?” I grumble.
“Not a chance, Christ Killer,” says my wife. “Nice grouping, though.”