(no subject)
So I'm lying in bed on Sunday evening. Six days to go until the half-marathon. I'm on my tummy with the soles of my feet in the air. I'm not yet under the covers because I've been up and down, scolding frisky cats. (They're on their second warning. One more infraction means they're kicked out of the room for the night.) Things have quieted down. I'm dozing.
And then, in a flash, I feel a sharp pain and realize that Johnny Cash has jumped directly onto my feet, claws-out. I'm not sure if he was attacking or just jumping up and didn't know my feet were there... but yeah. 10 pounds of kittycat hanging from mini-meat-hooks in my feet. OH MY GOD.
I yelled and he was gone in a flash and cowering under the bed. I pulled him out, tossed him down the hall, shut the bedroom door, and locked myself in the bathroom to deal with the blood. In the end it was only one scratch on each foot - a long, shallow one on my left foot and a short, deep one on my right. I washed them thoroughly with soap, dried them off, put on some clean socks (I loathe sleeping in socks) and went back to bed. When I came out of the bathroom, JC was sitting quietly on the floor outside. I locked them out for the night.
When I woke up in the morning, I hit the snooze for about 45 minutes straight. (I'd stayed up too late again, as I usually do when Alex is away.) Normally, at first alarm, JC is meowing for breakfast. This time? Not a peep. When I finally opened my bedroom door he was sitting there outside, waiting quietly. Guys, I know I'm guilty of anthropomorphizing but I swear to God he was sheepish. I brushed my teeth and then laid back down on my bed to check my messages; JC crawled up beside me, laid down, and rested his little paws and head on my arm. I like to think he was trying to say sorry.
Anyway, it's really not that bad. But the short/deep one still really hurts, and it's now only five days until the run. I'm going to skip my run tonight and hope that gives it some more time to heal. I wouldn't be so worried except I took last week off running due to scheduling. That's right - I'm planning on running a half-marathon when I haven't gone for a run in two weeks and I have a foot injury.
Guys, this was already going to be hard enough! Stupid cats! Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.
I'm going to buy some polysporin today for good measure. This thing better not get infected or that dirty little cat is going to have to do more than snuggle and look up at me with doe-eyes...
In other cat news, I finally bought a proper de-shedding comb and OH MY GOD it is amazing how much fur you can get off a cat. I could probably knit a whole new one. (Except that would be weird.) Both of them have never been big fans of being brushed, but they LOVE this comb. JC has never looked more blissed out than last night, rolling around in my lap for like 20 minutes, purring, while I combed him. (And clipped his fucking claws.) Hopefully this will help abate the major cat hair disaster that is slowly destroying our home and sanity.
And then, in a flash, I feel a sharp pain and realize that Johnny Cash has jumped directly onto my feet, claws-out. I'm not sure if he was attacking or just jumping up and didn't know my feet were there... but yeah. 10 pounds of kittycat hanging from mini-meat-hooks in my feet. OH MY GOD.
I yelled and he was gone in a flash and cowering under the bed. I pulled him out, tossed him down the hall, shut the bedroom door, and locked myself in the bathroom to deal with the blood. In the end it was only one scratch on each foot - a long, shallow one on my left foot and a short, deep one on my right. I washed them thoroughly with soap, dried them off, put on some clean socks (I loathe sleeping in socks) and went back to bed. When I came out of the bathroom, JC was sitting quietly on the floor outside. I locked them out for the night.
When I woke up in the morning, I hit the snooze for about 45 minutes straight. (I'd stayed up too late again, as I usually do when Alex is away.) Normally, at first alarm, JC is meowing for breakfast. This time? Not a peep. When I finally opened my bedroom door he was sitting there outside, waiting quietly. Guys, I know I'm guilty of anthropomorphizing but I swear to God he was sheepish. I brushed my teeth and then laid back down on my bed to check my messages; JC crawled up beside me, laid down, and rested his little paws and head on my arm. I like to think he was trying to say sorry.
Anyway, it's really not that bad. But the short/deep one still really hurts, and it's now only five days until the run. I'm going to skip my run tonight and hope that gives it some more time to heal. I wouldn't be so worried except I took last week off running due to scheduling. That's right - I'm planning on running a half-marathon when I haven't gone for a run in two weeks and I have a foot injury.
Guys, this was already going to be hard enough! Stupid cats! Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.
I'm going to buy some polysporin today for good measure. This thing better not get infected or that dirty little cat is going to have to do more than snuggle and look up at me with doe-eyes...
In other cat news, I finally bought a proper de-shedding comb and OH MY GOD it is amazing how much fur you can get off a cat. I could probably knit a whole new one. (Except that would be weird.) Both of them have never been big fans of being brushed, but they LOVE this comb. JC has never looked more blissed out than last night, rolling around in my lap for like 20 minutes, purring, while I combed him. (And clipped his fucking claws.) Hopefully this will help abate the major cat hair disaster that is slowly destroying our home and sanity.