The Christmas Cat Attack

My last post mentioned I was enjoying Christmas in quiet contented domestic bliss. I am.

As an expert in overthinking things, I fret that such a state doesn’t come naturally. I find myself most contented right after or during a big challenge. Last year, for example, my greatest moments of peace came by the campfire after exciting days riding dirt bike on the WYBDR.

This year I turned the dial back; not out of weakness of sprit but in wise conservation of limited health. The whole thing makes me nervous. Under normal (ideal?) circumstances I might be snowshoeing across a lake this weekend. I’ve been planning to camp on the ice with my “new” (now a few years old) winter tent. Sadly, it’s not a good idea and I’m holding back. I wonder how long I’ll be “patient”?

Since I’m not generally a “quiet and contented” guy, I’m a little suspicious of unexpected moments of Zen. Sitting in a chair by the fire, I pondered my situation:

“I always prefer challenge and excitement yet right now I’m sitting on my ass like a schlub. How has it come to be? Why am I not bored and annoyed?”

I sighed.

“Is this it? Am I just an old guy getting boring and sleepy?”

This whole line of thinking was unwise. Never ever pitch one across the plate like that! Give fate an opening that wide and you deserve to be your own punchline. I’d practically willed God’s banana peel under my feet!

What I haven’t blogged about is the feral kitten I mentioned in late October. It has moved into the house and rules the roost… as a kitten ought. I couldn’t keep the little scoundrel out of the house, it invaded my peace, it owns the cozy woodstove, it delights Mrs. Curmudgeon (and grudgingly me too), and the floor is littered with various cat toys. It wasn’t what I wanted or planned, but it’s what happened. We like critters in general and clever tricksters doubly so. So it’s here to stay.

I’m just glad the cat lets me live in its house!

So there I was, resting by the fire, completely relaxed but wondering if I was shirking some sort of cosmic duty to rise to challenges; with a cat sleeping on my lap.

Cats exist to stir the pot and (in my life at least) God has an excellent sense of humor. With no warning at all*, the kitten burst up from what had seemed like deep slumber, unsheathed ten tiny little claws, and attacked my beard!

I jerked back, which gave the little hellion just enough space to launch. The first attack had given it a good solid two paw grip on my beard. The full launch propelled it through (!) my beard, over my face, across my head, down my back, and across the room.

BLAM! The universe had provided the excitement I didn’t know I needed.

There was no more perfect time for a harmless but unexpected Honey Badger attack on my face. The universe knows when to swing for the bleachers!

The chair nearly went over. The book I was reading flew into the air. A cookie I had balanced on the chair’s arm went flying and disappeared. (I suspect the dog had something to do with that.)

I found myself on my feet in a fighting stance and facing the furry missile. I looked like Inspector Clouseau after being jumped by Cato.

I was alert, awake, and ready to rumble. The cat had no malice toward me. It had burst into action like a firecracker for reasons that only a kitten would understand. It had forgotten I existed. It was zooming all over the room… exactly like a spastic unpredictable kitten should.

The dog was barking. The cat was running in circles, sometimes underneath the dog. Mrs. Curmudgeon was calling into the room to see if I was ok, assuming probably that something had exploded.

Boring and sleepy indeed!

The world is exciting and vibrant! And my forehead has the scratches to prove it!

I fished a laser pointer out of my pocket and redirected the Tasmanian Devil at my feet. He obliged by zooming around, crashing into walls, and knocking stuff over.

I wasn’t mad. I was laughing my ass off.

God knows what you need. I hadn’t precisely expected an inexplicable grenade made of fur and claws exploding out of my lap… but it sure did get the blood pumping!

The cat and I had a merry time trashing everything in sight. After a good ten or fifteen minutes of concentrated mayhem me and the cat started winding down. The little maniac was tired. And so was I.

I flopped back into the chair. Without invite, the cat leapt up into my lap. As far as the cat’s concerned the chair belongs to him and I’m just sitting in it as a convenient space heater.

Five minutes later the cat was sound asleep. It was surely storing energy for the next round of chaos. I was no longer fretting! Was I was dodging some universe decreed allotment of fun? Nope. Shit would happen that keeps things interesting. I don’t have to worry my pointy head about it.

Unlike the cat, I didn’t drift off to sleep in the chair. Why? Because I had a cat in my lap that might detonate again without warning. However, I slowly got absorbed in my book and was once again contented and at peace.

God apparently knew I needed something to keep me active and responded eagerly. He unleased a furry Claymore mine in my living room and eased my worried mind. Can’t complain about that.

AC

*Except the obvious reason that cats are chaos wrapped in fur.

P.S. Here’s links from when the little critter showed up: Well That Didn’t Go As Planned and Pics Or It Didn’t Happen: Kitten Edition.