Fluffy Strikes?

I was given this “internet story” by a co-worker and immediately thought of “fluffy” and Vic-k

We’ve all had trouble with our animals, but I don’t think anyone can
top this one:

Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how
legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my boss thinks I’m

On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway, because
the truth was just too darned humiliating. I simply mentioned that I
had sustained a head injury, and I hoped I would feel up to coming in
the next day. By then, I reasoned, I could think up a doozy to explain
the bandage on the top of my head. The accident occurred mainly because
I had given in to my wife’s wishes to adopt a cute little kitty.

Initially, the new acquisition was no problem.

Then one morning, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I hear d
my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen.

‘Honey! The garbage disposal is dead again. Please come reset

‘You know where the button is,’ I protested through the
shower pitter-patterand steam. ‘Reset it yourself!’

‘But I’m scared!’ she persisted. ‘What if it starts
going and sucks me in?’

There was a meaningful pause and then,
‘C’mon, it’ll only take you a second.’

So out I came, dripping wet and butt naked, hoping that my silent
o utraged nudity would make a statement about how I perceived her
behavior as extremely cowardly.

Sighing loudly, I squatted down and stuck my head under the sink to
find the button. It is the last action I remember performing.

It struck without warning, and without any respect to my circumstances.
No, it wasn’t the hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal
teeth. It was our new kitty, who discovered the fascinating dan gling
objects she spied hanging between my legs. She had been poised around
the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink. And, at the
precise moment when I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I
unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws. I lost
all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements, blindly
rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a kitten
hanging from my masculine region.

Wild animals are sometimes faced with a ‘fight or flight’
syndrome. Men, in this predicament, choose only the ‘flight’
option. I know this from experience. I was fleeing straight up into the
air when the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcef ully impeded my ascent.

The impact knocked me out cold.

When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me.

Now there are not many things in this life
worse than finding oneself lying on the kitchen floor butt naked in
front of a group of ‘been-there, done-that’ paramedics.

Even worse, having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics were
all snorting loudly as they tried to conduct their work, a ll the while
trying to suppress their hysterical laughter…and not succeeding.

Somehow I lived through it all. A few days later I finally made it back
in to the office, where colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of
me about my head injury. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to
talk about, which it was.

‘What’s the matter?’ They all asked,
‘Cat got your tongue?’

If they only knew!

We`re not renowned for taking prisoners, just souvenirs i.e. scalps and scrotums :open_mouth:

That sounds like a day in the life of the Wock :confused:


Oh, man. :open_mouth: That is by far the most harrowing kitty story I’ve heard in a very long time. Please be assured that cat keeper-ship (we don’t own cats, you understand) does get better!

Still, your cautionary tale reminds me that I should warn my husband against similar attacks.

I view my cat now with a new and revised caution.

“A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way.”

  • Mark Twain

I have another cat story for you.

One of my old high school classmates, Tim, was the son of one of the local veterinarian, whom everyone called “Doc” Hefty. In his compassion, Doc often rescued injured, stray or unwanted critters; as you can imagine, Doc’s house was filled with fuzzies.

One such fuzzy was a little calico. I don’t recall her name, so we’ll call her Puff. In any case, Puff must have had an unpleasant encounter with a dog at some point, because the sound of barking terrified her.

That’s where Tim’s friend Jeff came in. Jeff was ordinarily a nice guy, but he apparently hated cats, and one day, got the idiotic idea in his head to chase Puff through the Hefty house, barking. He just laughed when Doc and Tim told him to stop.

“You don’t understand,” Doc warned. “Cats don’t forget. Ever. And they will get even.

Jeff just laughed. But the next time Jeff’s car was heard crunching its way up the Heftys’ gravel driveway, Puff leaped to the top of a tall bookcase and waited. When Jeff got within range, Puff pounced. Onto Jeff’s head she leaped, growling and spitting, ripping at Jeff with her claws and teeth. Doc was a big, burly man, and it took all Doc had to peel that little cat off Jeff and restrain her as she wriggled and hissed in her manic frenzy to kill Jeff.

From that time on, if Jeff was expected at the Hefty home, Doc had to lock Puff in a bedroom before Jeff arrived. Otherwise, she would hide someplace where she could stage an ambush for the unsuspecting Jeff. Even locked in a bedroom, Puff was still scary; she would growl behind the door, and try to work the doorknob in an attempt to get at Jeff.

“I told you,” Doc said. “Cats don’t forget. And they will get even!”

Pass the Fancy Feast! :mrgreen:


Here is one I always loved.

Excerpts from your pet’s Diaries.

The Dog’s Diary
8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Dinner! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

The Cat’s Diary
Day 983 of my captivity.

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet. Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates my capabilities. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a “good little hunter” I am.

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of “allergies.” I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow, but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released, and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird must be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly.
I am certain that he reports my every move.

My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now…

:laughing: I’ve seen this before, but it’s always a hoot! :laughing:

My wife laughed until she cried!