Cats Are Dangerous.

I am on a blogging-fest right now, and of course, NONE of it is about sewing or bags or crafting, but this story I just have to tell. :)

My husband was in a head-on car accident 15 years ago, which, among other things, left his one shattered leg a bit shorter than the other one. He's a super athletic guy, so it never really bothered him that his hip is out of alignment. But, after 15 years of walking around like that, it's starting to catch up, and affect his lower back.

Anywho, the last time he threw his back out, he was bending over our back stone patio, holding a 50 pound bag of patio sand, when lovely Charlie jumped over the fence. Simon heard him going over, turned to look, and that was that - he was in bed for several days.

So, obviously, it happened AGAIN, but this time the story is EVER so much better. :)

Charlie also has a wee bit (this is sarcasm) of a hairball issue, which causes him to yack on average of thrice a day. Yum. Luckily, he dry heaves for about 30 seconds before blasting, so I even hear it in my SLEEP, which gives me just enough time to wake up, realize that I am NOT naked in front of my 7th grade class, locate a towel, and get it in front of his multh to catch the inevitable mess.

Sunday night, this is what happens.

3AM, I hear the choking sound, groggily look around, and see Charlie heaving on the TOP FLIGHT of the cat climby that is in our bedroom. NOTE: This climby is RIGHT next to the window, and the roman shades are DOWN, and he is FACING THEM. A horrifying picture of cat yack blasting out of his multh (Witches of Eastwick style), all over my roman shade, running down the shade, the wall, onto the carpet, and into the heater vent flashed through my head, and I PANIC.

I LEAP out of bed, RUN to the climby, and grab hold of him to RIP him off the top to put him on the carpet so at least he will yack into one little spot. Charlie, however, has a different idea of what is going to happen here.

As I start to pull him down in the middle of his dry heave, he digs every single sharp nail he owns into the top of that damn climby as I attempt to rip him off the top of it. In total slow-mo, I see the entire cat climby is crashing down with him clinging to the top of it, while YACK is flying through the air with the grossest of ease.

Meanwhile, back at the bed, Simon hears this racket, and, convinced that I am wrestling a rapist (apparently I yelped during this circus act), does a one-move oblique sit-up in reaction to my yelping, and *TWEEEEEEEEEK*!!  Hurt his back.

Now everyone run out and get a cat; they are GRRREAT!! ;)

Here is my favorite picture of Charlie, the acrobatic-yack-blaster. THIS is the only reason our pets (I accidentally typed 'pest' here first - ha!) are not out with the trash:

Cute, right??  Ah Charlie, I love your yack-face so!