All I do is eat and sleep. Eat and sleep. Eat and sleep. There must be more to a cat's life than that. But I hope not.
-Garfield
In early September, I walked into the bedroom just as the cat was leaving. I spotted a black item on the bedspread. This was upsetting to me. Our cat, who, by and large, is a well behaved, litter box-trained, somewhat autistic creature, has occasionally shown her displeasure with us by depositing evil things on the bed. It apparently had happened again.
I walked back to the family room looking for the perpetrator. There she was, looking innocent and resting (as always). "Bad kitty!" I announced. "Why do you do that?!" She regarded me coolly, refusing to make eye contact.
I bristled at her insubordination. I made a loud noise and moved toward her. She decided that I was a crazy person and took off toward the living room. I took a couple of quick steps after her in pursuit.
Suddenly, I felt a "pop" in the back of my right leg, as though something had hit me from behind. Then I felt the pain. Then I went to the floor.
I knew something was torn. I lay on the floor trying to self-diagnose the injury. One way or another, I knew I was going to be limping for a while. Kathi looked at me like the pitiable fool I can be and helped me into a chair. Ice, elevation, ibuprofen, rest. We knew the routine. This was not the first time I had done something stupid to my leg.
After I explained why I had been so upset with the cat, Kathi went to clean up the mess. She was back in a moment.
"Bruce?"
"Yes?"
"The mess on the bed?"
"Yes?"
"The thing on the bed was your pager. The cat didn't do anything."
"Really?"
Oh.
I eventually forgave the cat but she, of course, did not care. I did notice that during my period of immobility, especially in September and early October, I had more time to write posts for this blog because, especially during those first six weeks, walking was uncomfortable and running was impossible. Now, ten weeks after the injury, I am just now using the treadmill in the bedroom.
Sometimes, when I am running, the cat comes to watch. I occasionally catch her looking smugly at the bedspread. I am certain that she is gloating.
-Garfield
In early September, I walked into the bedroom just as the cat was leaving. I spotted a black item on the bedspread. This was upsetting to me. Our cat, who, by and large, is a well behaved, litter box-trained, somewhat autistic creature, has occasionally shown her displeasure with us by depositing evil things on the bed. It apparently had happened again.
I walked back to the family room looking for the perpetrator. There she was, looking innocent and resting (as always). "Bad kitty!" I announced. "Why do you do that?!" She regarded me coolly, refusing to make eye contact.
I bristled at her insubordination. I made a loud noise and moved toward her. She decided that I was a crazy person and took off toward the living room. I took a couple of quick steps after her in pursuit.
Suddenly, I felt a "pop" in the back of my right leg, as though something had hit me from behind. Then I felt the pain. Then I went to the floor.
I knew something was torn. I lay on the floor trying to self-diagnose the injury. One way or another, I knew I was going to be limping for a while. Kathi looked at me like the pitiable fool I can be and helped me into a chair. Ice, elevation, ibuprofen, rest. We knew the routine. This was not the first time I had done something stupid to my leg.
After I explained why I had been so upset with the cat, Kathi went to clean up the mess. She was back in a moment.
"Bruce?"
"Yes?"
"The mess on the bed?"
"Yes?"
"The thing on the bed was your pager. The cat didn't do anything."
"Really?"
Oh.
I eventually forgave the cat but she, of course, did not care. I did notice that during my period of immobility, especially in September and early October, I had more time to write posts for this blog because, especially during those first six weeks, walking was uncomfortable and running was impossible. Now, ten weeks after the injury, I am just now using the treadmill in the bedroom.
Sometimes, when I am running, the cat comes to watch. I occasionally catch her looking smugly at the bedspread. I am certain that she is gloating.
6 comments:
Haha. Funny story! Hope your leg is doing fine.
Thanks! I'm on the mend.
haha, Dad. You let that silly cat win again...
Oh, so true...
The first time I saw this, I was at work reading it in my Google reader. I laughed out loud when I read about the pager. It still cracks me up. Glad you are on the mend. Hope you and your family have a great holiday season!
~MA
My leg is healed but I haven't gotten back into my exercise routine. Happy holidays to you, as well!
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