Cat Story

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Cat Story

Postby release on Thu Oct 23, 2003 1:35 pm

:lol:

Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable.
No matter how legitimate my illness, I always get
the feeling that my boss thinks I'm lying.

On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason,
but lied anyway, because the
truth was too humiliating. I simply mentioned
that I had sustained a head injury, and I hoped
I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I
reasoned, I could think up a doozy to explain
the bandage on my crown.

The accident occurred mainly because I had conceded
to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty. Initially,
the new acquisition was no problem.
Then one morning, I was taking my shower after breakfast
when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen.
"Ed! The garbage disposal is dead. Come reset it."

"You know where the button is," I protested
through the shower pitter-patter. "Reset it yourself!"

"But I'm scared!" she persisted.
"What if it starts going and sucks me in?"
There was a meaningful pause and then,
"C'mon, it'll only take a second."

So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping
with my outraged nudity to make a statement about
how her cowardly behavior was not without consequence.
Sighing loudly, I crouched down and stuck
my head under the sink to find the button.

It is the last action I remember performing.

It struck without warning, and without any
respect to my circumstances. No, it wasn't a
hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth.
It was our new kitty, clawing playfully at the
fascinating dangling objects she spied between my legs.
She had been poised around the corner and stalked me
as I took the bait under the sink.
And, at precisely the second
I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly
offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws.

I lost all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements,
blindly rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full
weight of a kitten hanging from my masculine region.

Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight
or flight" syndrome. Men, in this predicament,
choose only the "flight" option. I know this from
experience. I was fleeing straight up when the sink and
cabinet bluntly impeded my ascent. The impact
knocked me out cold.

When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood
over me. Now there are not many things in this life worse
than finding oneself lying on the kitchen
floor buck naked in front of a group of been-there, done-that
paramedics.

Even worse, having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics
were all snorting loudly as they tried to conduct their work,
all the while trying to suppress their hysterical laughter.......
and not succeeding. Somehow I lived through it all.

A few days later I finally made it back in to
the office, where colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me.
I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about. Which it was.

"What's the matter?" They all asked. "Cat got your tongue?"

If they had only known.
Cheers,

Release.
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