I have had an accident.
Yesterday I was . . . . investigating gravity? Yeah, that's what it was. And I was on the counter doing a tightrope act around the dirty dishes that didn't fit into the dishwasher after mom and dad's dinner with Ken, Marie and the little girls.
I liked the little girls. they were delightful. They thought I was the most charming cat in the world, but I digress.
Back to the counter . . . weaving my way through the dishes. I could smell something interesting up there. I think bbq sauce or rib juice or something like that and I was standing on this board, which was perched on a pan. It had a couple wine glasses and I sniffed one WHEW it was
and life changed
On a dime
Just like that
The board wobbled, I tried to keep my balance, it wasn't working--gravity was too strong. The glasses, the board the roasting pan . . . all of it went down. And I went down too. Glass shattered everywhere.
Mom was on the deck and heard the noise. If the neighbors had been home, they'd have heard the noise too. It was a terrible racket. Mom was shocked and worried at the amount of glass. Chester was napping, but I was interested in what was going on so she put me in the bedroom with Dad, who was also still napping . . .and she cleaned it up.
My heart was beating like a rocket launch, so I climbed up on the bed and snuggled close to dad. it was a very scary scary thing.
Dad held me a bit and then woke up and came out to see what was going on.
Mom had made a sign that said "Dougal broke 3 glasses this morning--Be careful--not all the glass may be up."
And Dad said sleepily, "That explains the blood."
The blood?!!!!
Mom was instantly concerned and they poked my paws and my legs and found a spot that--CRIPES that hurt! Don't be touching me there!
Mom was insistant. She wanted to see how bad it was. So Dad held me and she took a look . . . and she got a very strange look on her face.
Dad looked at her and said, "Let's call the vet."
They drove me down to the M*A*S*H unit near the Home Depot and I spent the rest of the afternoon there waiting for my turn in surgery.
THEN--they put this freaking PURPLE polka dotted bandage on my leg and this horrific martini collar . . .though they call it an "Elizbethan collar." HA . . it's a dork collar and it bumps a stumps and I HATE it.
I hate this stupid bandage.
I hate this stupid collar and I just want it to all go away.
Oh . . . and I suspect there's medicine . . . some icky pink goo . . .
Mom was relieved it wasn't pills . . . she doesn't know I can spit liquid as easily as I spit pills.
What a terrible vacation weekend.
