Beware cat claws

Let me say this about that. 

Ya know, sometimes the world can be a very dark place.  Wars, recessions, terrorism, debt, reality shows -  sometimes leave us wondering how we can simply make it through the day.  Ever wonder why so few old people have a fear of death?  It’s because they believe “….. well hell, it couldn’t be much worse than this.” 

A lot of folks resort to drugs and alcohol to relieve their stress.  Some go the Michael Jackson route with prescription drugs.  I prefer the ‘Tiger Woods’ program for improving your mood, but alas,  Mrs. Shambo owns a gun.  That leaves the last bastion of insanity prevention – “Humor”.  

The funniest stories almost always are true.  I mean, I enjoy a good ‘blond’ joke as much as the next guy, but there are far too many funnier stories that come out of real life.  When I get into a bad mood, I always remember the story of…    ‘Bob & Marsha’ and I’m instantly transported into a happier place. 

Bob and Marsha were your average middle-aged couple.  Bob held a low-level office job while Marsha was a homemaker and looked after their two teenage boys.  They lived in a modest 2nd story apartment that overlooked a 9-hole golf course that Bob played on weekends.  Almost nothing was remarkable about their lives – that is until they got the cat. 

Marsha was a very high strung woman and being in the apartment alone all day did not make her situation any less stressful.  Bob got the idea that if he could provide some distraction during Marsha’s long days at home alone she might chill out a bit.  So, he bought her a cat. 

Things seemed to be going fairly well with Bob’s plan until he came home one day from work to find Marsha barely holding back tears.  “What’s the matter, baby?”  Bob asked his wife.  “The cat won’t play with me anymore.  All she wants to do is lie on the couch and sleep”  Marsha complained as she tossed a sofa pillow at the sleeping cat. 

Bob, thinking “like I need this crap after a hard day at the office”  tried to inject some logic into the obviously emotional world of women and cats.  “Look here baby, cats are natural hunters.  You need to give the cat something to stimulate her natural interest in order to make her more active.” 

With that, Bob went into the bedroom closet and took out his golf bag.  He removed one of those tassel-topped socks from a fairway wood and placed a golf ball inside.  He walked back into the living room, sat down next to Marsha and told her to watch.  Bob took the sock with the golf ball inside and slowly began to swing the sock back and forth like a pendulum. 

Immediately, the cat’s ears perked up and she jumped off the couch to assume an attack crouch as if she were a stalking cheetah on the Serengeti Plain.  Bob gently swung the sock back and forth until the cat could not stand it any longer.  The would-be Serengeti cheetah lurched forward and attacked the sock with claws fully extended and teeth bared.  A violent game of tug-of-war ensued between Bob and the cat until Bob released the sock and the cat smothered it’s make-believe prey with violent slashing of claws and vicious bites as if she were ripping the flesh from some poor wounded gazelle. 

Marsha then tried the game and was rewarded with similar results, much to the relief of her long suffering husband.  After a few more bouts of ‘attack-the-gazelle’ were played, Bob put the golf ball filled sock away and later on they went to bed. 

The next morning Marsha got out of bed and went to the kitchen to prepare Bob’s breakfast before he left for work.  As Bob was removing his pajamas to enter his shower, Marsha came back into the bedroom and said:  “Honey, it’s a beautiful day outside.  The kids have already left for school and we almost never get to spend any time together.  Why don’t you call in sick today?  I’ll fix you a nice breakfast and we can spend some “alone” time together?  I’ll even make it worth your while.”  With that, she opened the front of her robe and showed Bob a reason to remove the little hesitation he felt about calling in sick. 

Marsha returned to the kitchen while Bob, after faking a few coughs during his call to the office, got into the shower.  He was singing a few of the more raunchy lyrics from the rock opera “Hair” when he heard Marsha let out a blood curdling scream from the kitchen.  Bob jumped out of the shower and ran for the kitchen as he wrapped a towel around his waist.  When he reached the kitchen, Marsha was standing in the doorway watching a steady stream of water spewing from beneath the sink. 

“Calm down, Honey.  The sink has sprung a leak.  It’s no big deal, I’ll just shut the water off until we can fix it”, Bob reassured her.  With that, Bob got down on all fours and attempted to stick his head under the sink cabinet to find the cut-off valve.  As he maneuvered his head and shoulders into the small opening, his towel rode up over his butt to reveal a bare scrotum – fully relaxed and hanging low after his warm shower – slowly swinging back and forth as Bob reached for the valve. 

Marsha looked down to notice that the cat had joined her at the entrance to the kitchen – fully crouched into the Serengeti attack position – and eying her prey.  Marsha could almost read her mind as the cat looked up at her as if to say: 

“Gazelle !!” 

An instant later, the cat made a single leap from the entrance of the kitchen to Bob’s swinging nut-sack, and slashed her prey with all 10 front claws.  

This was absolutely the LAST thing Bob was expecting at that particular moment.  

Pain shot through his body as if he had a 10,000 volt Taser stuck up his crotch, causing every muscle in his body to expand and contract wildly.  His head lurched upward violently, colliding with the underside of the porcelain covered cast iron sink, knocking poor Bob unconscious. 

So, there lay Bob.  Nude, unconscious, bleeding profusely about the head and nut-sack, and in imminent danger of drowning in only one inch of water.  The cat, confident that her prey had been properly subdued, pranced out of the kitchen and jumped up to her favorite spot on the couch. Marsha, not exactly a cool customer on a good day, began to make a sound like an old World War II air raid siren, only louder.  The next door neighbor came running to see what was the matter and came upon a scene she later described to rescue workers as ” looking like a Mafia hit”. 

The neighbor lady dragged Bob out of the kitchen by the feet, in all likelihood preventing him from drowning, while Marsha managed to give the 911 operator her address, between a chorus of screams and air raid siren sounds.  

Within minutes, the EMT rescue workers arrived and bandaged Bob’s head to slow the bleeding.  Though I’m sure Bob would disagree, they judged the scrotum wounds superficial and left them alone.  They were not immediately able to revive Bob back to consciousness,  so they loaded him on a gurney and headed downstairs to the ambulance.  

On the way down the stairs, Marsha was able to regain her composure enough to begin explaining to the EMT techs what had happened.  The guy carrying the front of the gurney started to laugh and lost his footing. The guy carrying the rear, also started laughing, causing him to lose his grip, spilling poor Bob down a flight of stairs and breaking his right arm. 

About a week later, Bob returned to work…  his right arm in a sling, his head sporting a turban sized bandage, and with a distinctive bow-legged walk we later learned was due to the giant ‘MaxiPad’  Bob was wearing on his “gazelle’s”.  We left poor Bob alone for a few weeks, simply because we couldn’t look the man in the eye without choking back the laughter and blowing snot bubbles. 

About a month after the incident, a group of us guys decided to go over to Bob’s apartment, have a few beers, and play some poker to cheer up our old pal.  After playing cards for I while I asked Bob:  “Say Bob, what ever happened to your cat?”  Bob just grunted and never did answer the question, but as he dealt the next round of cards, he gave a suspicious glance toward the garbage disposal. 

And, that’s all I have to say about that. 

Shambo