"INCOMING"
It seems that our household dose of feline idiocy (Burmese variety) has decided to add another tally mark to his list of victims. That wouldn't be so bad I suppose if that additional victim were anyone else but me. Koda had other ideas in his woefully under-developed mind however, and this morning I was the lucky recipient of a gravity assisted cat-attack...
I suppose that I was partially to blame for this in the first place. I locked that manic moggy in the bathroom in order to keep Graeme's mind on getting dressed. With things being the way they were this morning (and much like every other morning when time is a factor) Koda was locked away to his own devices and promptly forgotten in a flurry of activity and parental encouragement (trans: shouting) at children to get dressed before all manner of detention, grounding and fwappage hit them. I swear, some mornings it takes gelignite just to get Graeme and Nathan moving and a cattle-prod to keep them moving in the right direction.
Time passed and, with the rest of the family out the door and on their (noisy) way, I decided that I had just enough time after putting my motorcycle jacket on to put some laundry into the wash and to scoop a metric butt-load of cat crap from two litter boxes before leaving. Scooping the crap from the litter tray in the en suite was easy and uneventful enough. Reality was, as you can see, lulling me into a false sense of security before yet another hose-job. Time to scoop the second litter tray in the main bathroom, so I open the door and bend down to knee level and get to work...
I hear Koda meowing behind me - sounding a little odder than normal, and responded in the appropriate fashion when you're busy moving shit from one pile to another, "Shut up Koda!" while continuing to scoop. More meowing follows, "Koda, will you kindly shut the fuck up?", and then all falls ominiously quiet...
"WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!" I yell as I swiftly realise that our resident cat with a death-wish has launched himself from the top of the shower stall to land on my back. I stand up, a mistake, to feel the unnerving sensation of a cat briefly hanging from my jacket before launching himself sideways into the hallway and a rapid escape from my cat-seeking size 14 shoe. The only comfort I can claim in this indignity is the fact that, due to my twisting and turning in the middle of Koda's launch, the Burmese with a breathing problem (He's still breathing, that's the problem) went off course and bounced off the bathroom door with a heartfelt (and head felt) *clunk*.
If all cats were this much fun we would have killed the entire species off centuries ago...
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Now playing: Tarja Turunen - I Walk Alone
via FoxyTunes
It seems that our household dose of feline idiocy (Burmese variety) has decided to add another tally mark to his list of victims. That wouldn't be so bad I suppose if that additional victim were anyone else but me. Koda had other ideas in his woefully under-developed mind however, and this morning I was the lucky recipient of a gravity assisted cat-attack...
I suppose that I was partially to blame for this in the first place. I locked that manic moggy in the bathroom in order to keep Graeme's mind on getting dressed. With things being the way they were this morning (and much like every other morning when time is a factor) Koda was locked away to his own devices and promptly forgotten in a flurry of activity and parental encouragement (trans: shouting) at children to get dressed before all manner of detention, grounding and fwappage hit them. I swear, some mornings it takes gelignite just to get Graeme and Nathan moving and a cattle-prod to keep them moving in the right direction.
Time passed and, with the rest of the family out the door and on their (noisy) way, I decided that I had just enough time after putting my motorcycle jacket on to put some laundry into the wash and to scoop a metric butt-load of cat crap from two litter boxes before leaving. Scooping the crap from the litter tray in the en suite was easy and uneventful enough. Reality was, as you can see, lulling me into a false sense of security before yet another hose-job. Time to scoop the second litter tray in the main bathroom, so I open the door and bend down to knee level and get to work...
I hear Koda meowing behind me - sounding a little odder than normal, and responded in the appropriate fashion when you're busy moving shit from one pile to another, "Shut up Koda!" while continuing to scoop. More meowing follows, "Koda, will you kindly shut the fuck up?", and then all falls ominiously quiet...
* Thud *
"WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!" I yell as I swiftly realise that our resident cat with a death-wish has launched himself from the top of the shower stall to land on my back. I stand up, a mistake, to feel the unnerving sensation of a cat briefly hanging from my jacket before launching himself sideways into the hallway and a rapid escape from my cat-seeking size 14 shoe. The only comfort I can claim in this indignity is the fact that, due to my twisting and turning in the middle of Koda's launch, the Burmese with a breathing problem (He's still breathing, that's the problem) went off course and bounced off the bathroom door with a heartfelt (and head felt) *clunk*.
If all cats were this much fun we would have killed the entire species off centuries ago...
----------------
Now playing: Tarja Turunen - I Walk Alone
via FoxyTunes
2 comments:
My only regret is that you were wearing a motorcycle jacket...any jacket designed to minimise damage to your body if you crash/skid/fall etc is unlikely to leave opportunity for cat scratch scars to match mine.
But koodos to you for remembering to scoop the litter.
*poke*
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