I have this cat whom I found as kitten, too young to have been weaned properly and sick - without intervention he wouldn't have survived on his own much longer. I nursed him back to health, had to hand feed him for awhile, and I became very attached to him. He's now really healthy, a beautiful orange tabby and we get along great, but our relationship hit a very rocky point one morning. We've patched things up, reasonably well, but memories of this particular morning will always haunt us - particularly me.
But now the point: I shave after I get out of the shower. I throw a towel around my waist, but other than that I shave naked. Like I said my kitten - let's call him Butters - is hanging out in the bathroom the whole time. At this point he's maybe 4 months old, still young, but full of energy. He's playing, doing his thing, and eventually he starts rolling and playing around my feet. 'How sweet,' I think. 'This is a great cat.'
Next thing I know i'm on the floor, curled in the foetus position with blood dripping down my chin from a razor cut and Butters is hiding out behind the porcelain throne, starring at me with huge, dilated eyes.
Yeah, he went there.
Dangling objects + kitten = kill.
For those who still haven't caught on, while playing around my feet Butters must have looked up and seen the ole' twig and berries, and decide that it would be a great idea to give the danglies a swat. He had good aim - very good aim...
I don't understand masochists.
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