The Mighty Kitten

The Mighty Kitten
Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable because no matter how legitimate my illness, I always sense my boss thinks I am lying. On one occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway because the truth was to humiliating to reveal. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on the crown of my head.

The accident occurred mainly because I conceded to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty.

As the daily routine prescribes, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen. "Ed!" she hearkened. "The garbage disposal is dead. Come reset it. "

"You know where the button is. "I protested through the shower. "Reset it yourself!"

"I am scared!"She pleaded. "What if it starts going and sucks me in?"Pause. "C'mon, it'll only take a second. "

No logical assurance about how a disposal can't start itself will calm the fears of a person who suffers from "Big-ol-scary-machinephobia," a condition brought on by watching too many Stephen King movies. It is futile to argue or explain, kind of like telling Lloyd Bentsen Americans areover-taxed. And if a poltergeist did, in fact, possess the disposal, and she was ground into round, I'd have to live with that the rest of my life.

So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping to make a statement about how her cowardly behavior was not without consequence but it was I who would suffer. I crouched down before the open cabinet and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It was the last thing I remember.

It struck without warning... without respect to my circumstances. Nay, it wasn't a hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. No... it was the kitten, Buttons (a. k. a. "the Gater"). She had been poised near by, stalking me as I took the bait under the sink. At precisely that second, when I was most vulnerable, she sprang at the "toys" that I had unwittingly offered, snagging them with her needle-like claws.

Now when men feel pain, or even sense danger anywhere close to their masculine region, they lose all ability to muster a controlled, analytical response to the stimulus. Instinctively, their nerves compel the body to contort inwardly, while rising upwardly at a violent rate of speed. Not even a Tibetan monk could calmly stand upright with his privates supporting the full weight of a kitten, much less rectify the situation in a step-by-step manner. Wild animals are sometimes faced with the "fight or flight" response; men on the other hand, consider only "flight".

I knew at that moment how a cat feels when it is suddenly alarmed. It was a dismal irony. But, whereas a cat seeks great heights to escape, I never made it that far. The sink and cabinet bluntly impeded my ascent without a hint of forgiveness; the impact knocking me out cold.

When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics trying desperately to conduct professionally while obviously suppressing their laughter.

At the office, colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me, while I kept silent. One comment, "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?", tested my ability to maintain composure.

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