The Night My Cat Tried to Kill Me

Have you ever been dragged out of a deep sleep by a massive muscle spasm in your leg? That happened to me this week, except the muscle spasm wasn’t in my leg—it was somewhere deep in my intestines. I am, of course, a logical person—so I quickly deduced that I was dying and I’d better empty my bladder so the paramedics wouldn’t find my body in a puddle of pee (in my defense, my thinking tends to be a bit muddied at 2 am).

So I leapt out of bed (way too quickly, I would soon discover) and staggered to the bathroom. I would have made it, too, if there hadn’t been an old, fat cat sitting in the doorway. We collided dramatically, fur, dander and curse words flew, and (to make a short story just a tad shorter) I chose to lie down on the floor for a few minutes while the head spins, cold sweats and massive muscle spasm eased.

And that’s when the cat tried to kill me. Instead of racing down the hall in a panic—like any non-homicidal pet would do—the old, fat cat waddled up to me, stepped over my head with his front paws and flopped his hairy, flabby, surprisingly heavy gut right across my neck. Then (clearly, he’d been dreaming of killing me for years) he started to purr.

I spent what felt like an eternity—but was likely closer to three seconds—trying to coax the fat cat off my neck while he held on valiantly, like an amateur wrestler. He finally waddled off, annoyed, and I was able to enjoy breathing, again.

The good news: That mega muscle cramp has never came back. The bad news: Psycho cat now sleeps in the bathroom doorway every night, waiting for another chance…