I have been very remiss in my blogging recently. I didn't feel I had anything to say.
But then! My buddy Mike , who has been absent for even longer than I have, finally blogged today.
So, I thought, "...well, if he can blog . . . so can I!"
So here's my life recently.
Yesterday, I came home from running some errands. When I put the car in the garage, Smoke (that grey bastard at the top of this page) was waiting at the door to be let into the house. So, like a good guy (that I am) I stepped up to the door to let him in. Almost immediately, he whirled and grabbed my ankle with both paws, claws extended, and also locked on with his teeth. I, innocent that I am, screamed some sort of profane words at him and tried to swat him off with a few papers I had in one hand. I, naturally, was wondering why this dear cat of mine had turned into a raging hell-demon intent on taking my life out through my ankle.
Suddenly it came to me! (As Mike would say, "I'm old and I'm tired.") As I would say, if I had enough sense to say ANYTHING, "Oh, shit, I'm...standing...on...his...tail!" I DID say something like that, at least in my head. I let up on my OTHER foot and Smoke (mercifully) let loose of me.
After I took the stuff I had in my hands into the house and told SWMBO that I was wounded to the bone I went out to look for (and apologize to) that (bastard) cat. He was out on the sidewalk in front of the house. When I called to him, he walked away, looking over his shoulder with a hateful glare in his eyes.
I asked SWMBO to try to call him into the house. He came in. I tried to stay out his way.
I don't know whether cats have short memories or if they forgive their people or what. But later he let me pet him and accepted my heartfelt apologies.
I love my Smoke.
My ankle, covered with spot bandages, . . . hurts.