Cat Scratches Happen
Last night, in the darkness, a monster pounced on me and ripped my flesh with its claws.
And by “monster,” of course, I mean one of my cats.
It was exactly 10:23 p.m. (because I always check the time when I am viciously attacked). The cabin was dark, but I could hear a cat jump up on the footstool next to my bed. I assumed he — whoever he was — was about to come snuggle with me.
That may have been his intention, but right before he jumped, something spooked him. His leap turned into a panicked dance of fright that happened right on top of me — he jumped on my head first, digging a claw into my temple. He leaped up and landed on my hand, jumped again and scratched my shoulder, then jumped one final time and got me on the leg.
Imagine Daffy Duck or Tigger — bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce — but with claws fully extended.
Obviously, I sat up, said harsh words, turned on the light, and went into the bathroom to inspect the damage. My shoulder took the worst damage. The scratches stung. I wiped them with an antibacterial wipe from my first aid kit.
When I got back to bed, but before I turned the light back off, Fat Zombie approached the bed. He stopped short at the sight of my fuzzy house slippers, a pair that had been hiding in my closet for about a year. He sniffed one, then jumped back as if it might attack him. Sniffed again and pulled back.
Here’s my theory, which I will never be able to prove: I think the cat who scratched me was Sweet Zombie (because he’s crazy enough to jump like that). I think Fat Zombie was the one who spooked him — probably by suggesting the fuzzy house slippers were going to attack.
It took me a while to fall asleep after that. When I awoke this morning, Sweet Zombie was snuggled up next to me in all his extra-fuzzy glory. If he’s the one who got me, I forgive him. He’s too sweet for me to be mad at him, probably ever or for any reason. Sweet Zombie is the love of my life — don’t tell the others.
