14 November 2004

Cat Lover or Not

Growing up, we always had dogs. We loved our dogs, and my dad was a dog person. He did not like cats. So now, I have 3 cats living with me. I guess that is why my dad emailed this to me:



Cat Lover or not this is hysterical!
We've all had trouble with our animals,
but I don't think anyone can top this one:

Calling in sick to work makes me
uncomfortable. No matter how legitimate my excuse, 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 just too darned 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 the top of my head.

The accident occurred mainly because I had
given in 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.

"Honey! The garbage disposal is dead
again. Please come reset it."

"You know where the button is," I
protested through the shower pitter-patter and steam. "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 you a second."

So out I came, dripping wet and buck
naked, hoping that my silent outraged nudity would make a statement about
how I perceived her behavior as extremely cowardly. Sighing loudly, I
squatted 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 the hexed disposal, drawing
me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitty, who discovered
the fascinating dangling objects she spied hanging between my legs. She had
been poised around the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink. And, at the precise moment when 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 into
the air when the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcefully 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 about my head injury. 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 only knew!

Why is it that only the women laugh at this?

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