Perino Vizsla Fan Club

Woke up this morning confused about why my whole body hurt. Rolled over and felt a stab of pain go down the muscles on the right side of my back. "Did I sleep wrong?" I wondered groggily. "Was it the mattress?" But no, it felt like I'd been playing full contact football yesterday. And then I remembered what had happened. Last night, I was watching the new Frankenstein movie with @Joeinblack and his dad, when a noise started up in the kitchen. At first it was just a little rustling. Then it got louder. Fr. Joe has hearing aids and can't make out certain sounds, so he didn't notice it at first. The noise got louder, more chaotic, more urgent. I got up and headed towards the kitchen. It was the kind of sound an animal would make, so I assumed that Bob, the demon-spawn cat, had gotten into something. I made it into the kitchen and began scanning the room for him. The noise was loud -- a rhythmic banging sound -- but I still didn't see him. Then, all of a sudden, like a bat out of hell, a large, white paper bag with cat legs came tearing around the corner at me at about Mach 3. I didn't even have time to fully process what I was seeing before the apparition was upon me. At last, I could see that it was a tote-style bag with twine loops for handles, and Bob had gotten his head stuck in the loop and was battling that bag for his life. But he was absolutely not going to stop for me to take it off. In fact, he scratched the crap out of my foot as he came at me. I yelped in pain and jumped back, only for my foot to land on the damn paper bag, and the next thing I knew it was like I'd slipped on black ice, and my feet were going out from under me. And then I was falling. I landed hard, on my ass and my hands, and I felt the tiny, soft body of that stupid cat directly beneath me. Gentle reader, I am not a small man. I am a very large, former defensive lineman. 6'4" with a lot of extra padding I've picked up over the two decades I've been married. Fr. Joe had told me the story, a couple weeks ago, of someone he knew who was a very large man who accidentally sat on the cat of someone he was visiting that was curled up on the chair he sat on. Straight up killed the poor thing. And all I could think was, "Oh no. I've just done the same." I could feel poor bob squish, directly under my butt. I hit the floor HARD. There was nothing to slow my impact. Well, except Bob's little feline body. But like Frankenstein's monster, Bob could not die. He was moving again at breakneck speed. He tore through the dining room and straight at Joe, and he almost took him out too. Father had one foot up in the air and barely caught himself before he also hit the floor. In less than two seconds, Bob had taken out two very large men. And he was still going. I was worried, still, that I'd seriously hurt him. I thought maybe adrenaline was keeping him going and he didn't know he was in trouble yet. We searched for him, and after a long while, found him hanging out under Mr. Krupp's (Joe's dad) bed. He still had the loop around his neck, but most of the bag was gone. The initial assessment was that he was fine. But he was spooked, and hid out for the rest of the night. This morning, I texted Fr. Joe and asked about Bob. I hadn't seen him. "Oh, he's doing great," he replied. "He's already eaten his breakfast and caused all kinds of trouble." Apparently, I got the worst of it. I don't take a fall like I used to. My foot and ankle were torn up. My back and my wrists hurt. No actual injuries, just old man problems. That freaking cat is something else, man.