I had a little bit of Cat Drama yesterday morning. Helen was clinging so closely to my leg that I stepped on her tail. She went under a table for a while and I begged her to tell me if she was OK. Crickets. But, after a few minutes she wandered into the kitchen and managed to energetically suck up both her kibbles and bits. In my mind I thought maybe she was limping a little but it’s pretty hard to tell because she waddles rather than walks. She seemed to be resting comfortably so I figured she must be OK.
When Dan got home he checked her out and thought she was fine, but that didn’t stop him from interrogating me like a criminal. He wanted to know what happened, when it happened, how hard I stepped on her tail, why I didn’t see her. Does he really think that I saw Helen’s tail and decided to step on it for fun? The whole thing was so ridiculous I finally told him I couldn’t find a puppy to kick so I stomped on Helen instead.
Dan sat down in our new ergo desk chair to ponder the puppy statement. He was successfully annoying me by swiveling and rolling the chair around the kitchen, when suddenly he got a worried look on his face and warned me that it would be easy to run over a cat while I was sliding around, so I should be very careful. He said the chair was a timely reminder that I need to be more alert and not, and I quote, “bulldoze” the cats.
Huh? What does he think I do all day, storm through the house like Godzilla, destroying everything in my path? Skin Dalmations like Cruella DeVille? Hunt wolves from a helicopter?
Just to get his dander up, I sent him this email today:
Janet was sprawled out across one of the stairs this morning but in my buffalo-like fashion I didn’t notice. I crushed her. Ooops. My bad! Can you please stop by Washington Animal Rescue League tonight and pick up a replacement? Thanks honey.
Hopefully he will stop harassing me now. If not, it’s time to let loose the flying monkeys.