Last night as I was checking emails and cruising the net for shopping ideas, I was stretching my legs from the morning's exercise session on the stationary bike. Having propped one foot on another chair under the table, my foot began to rhythmically flex and point to a tune in my head. The room was completely dark save for the light from the computer screen. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, it happened.
Sharp claws digging through my socks. Ouch! That darned cat!
But its claws were stuck in my sock. Flex. Still there. Point. More so. Finally I jerked my leg back, dragging the cat onto the chair, which scared the cat. The cat howled. The claws dug deeper. I howled.
I traded the R for an M. Damn cat!
The cat literally ran in a circle under the table using the tablecloth as its runway, its claws holding onto the fabric. Then up my leg. Claws still out. When it hit my lap, I knocked it onto the floor.
After regaining my composure, there were other emails to read. By that time the cat had returned to my lap to apologize by curling up and purring away. Can someone tell me why I put up with the kneading claws of a purring cat on my lap but not the playful claws turned weapons on my foot?
the Democratic Idea is False
4 hours ago