I don’t trust cats. Never did. Never will. Something about their beady little eyes unnerves me. It’s as if they are peering into my very soul and are unimpressed with what they see. Those bastards. You’re just being paranoid, I tell myself. Cats are not out to get you, that would be crazy. Crazy, you say? Well well well! That’s what I thought too until this afternoon when one of the cats in my neighborhood tried to assassinate me.
Wednesday is laundry day for me. I’m in and out of class from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m., with some scattered breaks in between, so I am constantly dropping by my swingin’ bachelor pad throughout the day to drop stuff off or to fix myself a snack or two (I eat a lot).
It was about 6 p.m. when “the incident” occurred. I had just gotten back from class and was anxious to start a new load of laundry. The sun was shinning brightly but it was freezing outside, so I was bundled in my comfy brown sweater for warmth. I live on the 2nd story, which is a first for me. I’m usually the poor guy on the bottom who has to listen to his upstairs neighbors do God knows what at 3 a.m. Now I’m that guy! Hahaha! It’s pretty great. Except for today.
The wind was blowing so violently that I was holding my laundry basket for dear life, afraid that a rogue pair of socks or underwear would be caught by the wind and then I would look like a jackass running pathetically down the street after my own undergarments. All my neighbors would point and laugh and say “Ha ha ha! Look at that guy! He can’t even do laundry right. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.” And then they would go back to laughing maniacally at my misfortune. This is the kind of stuff I think about.
Anyway, back to my near death experience.
I was walking down the steps to the laundry room, clutching my faithful laundry basket with all my might, when suddenly out of nowhere my foot steps on something soft and rope-like and a sound unlike anything I have ever heard in my life assaults my ears. It sounded like a demon screaming the chorus of “Welcome to the Jungle” over a hot-bed of coals. I’m serious. Anyway, so it turned out the “soft and rope-like” thing I had stepped on was the tail of one of the many stray cats in my neighborhood, which scared the crap out of both of us, apparently, because when I stepped on his tail he screamed with such unholy might and fury that I lost my balance and went toppling down a half flight of stairs, landing mightily on the concrete ground with a massive thud that knocked all the wind out of my lungs. Luckily for me I didn’t land directly on the pavement, but rather I landed miraculously on top of my laundry basket, sparing my life and my good looks.
As I was laying on top of my now tragically disfigured laundry basket, gasping for breath I thought of all the things that I had yet to do with my life. After what seemed like an eternity (and 2 laughing bicyclists later) I finally summoned the strength to pull myself up, and gathered my laundry into my now deformed (but ultimately life-saving) laundry basket. I was a bit shaken, but not injured.
I eyed my would-be assassin with a smile. Better luck next time, buddy boy!