Looks too cute for words, doesn't he?Well this morning he took a chunk out of my thigh. He goes crazy at the sound of running water, so each time I turn the kitchen faucet on to wash dishes, Wickers comes trotting in from wherever, and stands by my feet, mewing piteously.
Sometimes, out of desperation, I refill his recently-filled water bowl, and this satisfies him...for about five minutes, or until the next time I run the faucet, and then he's back at my feet again, crying.
This morning crying just wasn't enough. He lifted his front paws in the air, and streeeeetched way up high til his front claws had embedded themselves in the back of my thighs. It was my turn to cry, but I didn't really cry. I groaned something unprintable, and strongly encouraged him to remove his paws.
Him being my wobbly cat, that is to say, my falls-when-I-nudge-him-with-my-foot cat, he got one paw undone but couldn't get the other, and in his attempt he fell sideways, still tangled in my pajamas. I tried to help him by crouching on the floor. I didn't want his poor little arm getting pulled out of its socket. It took us another two minutes of uncoordinated maneuvering before he was free.
Disgusted, I rinsed my soapy hands and went to find a huge towel and the claw-clippers. I took complete advantage of his disability to wrap him up, pin him down and trim his nails. I feel no shame.
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