I adore my pets but I have little doubt they’re going to be the death of me.
You see, they’re determined to trip and kill me. You wouldn’t think animals would have a sinister side to them, would you? Well, I’m beginning to wonder. It can’t be coincidence that it keeps happening, can it?
Coincidence? I think not!
If you have animals, you know what I’m talking about. In my pets’ attempt to either get my attention, race me wherever I’m headed, or stick to me like glue because they adore me (yeah, right), I rarely make it through a day without avoiding a face-plant or near-death stumble.
My cat Oliver is the worst. He’s the smallest of my 4 pets so he’s more difficult to spot when I’m carrying a load of groceries or walking around the house talking on my cell. That ridiculous cat loves me so much he shadows my every move. Either that or he’s an evil feline intent on keeping me from reaching another birthday.
The second I walk in the door Oliver is at my toes. With every step I take he runs alongside me, his body pressed against my ankle. Then he starts to weave himself in and out of my legs like a car maneuvering around road cones.Oliver choreographs his weaves perfectly, like dance steps, so I don’t trip. What he doesn’t realize, however, is that my steps are not consistently the same distance apart. Consequently, miscalculations occur.
Should one step be 4 inches shorter than the last, my foot hits Oliver’s side and I stumble over him. I know this because, like brushing my teeth, I do it every day. Lucky for me I’m not a total klutz and can usually catch my balance while the armload of whatever I’m holding ends up on the kitchen tile in many messy pieces.I immediately round up the animals, herd them into the family room, sweep up the glass then mop up whatever sticky item broke upon impact. Why, at these times, am I always carrying breakables?
Oliver, for his part, sits nearby, indifferent to the mess he caused. Every time it’s about to happen I yell, “Oliver! Don’t you trip me!” But he hardly ever listens.
My point is, one of these times I will actually trip and kill myself.
Maybe it will happen with Nellie, my greyhound, while she sleeps at the top of the stairs. I’ll be on my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night, half asleep. I’ll stumble over her, won’t catch my balance and tumble to the bottom of the stairs where Jeff, my UPS man, will find me on a Wednesday afternoon while delivering my Italian coffee pods.
Trouble is I’ll have been there since Sunday. He’ll spot me through the etched glass of my front door. Regardless, the smell of decaying flesh will greet Jeff halfway up the walk and he’ll have 911 on the phone before he reaches the front steps.
Did you know UPS carriers find dead bodies more than anyone? I just made that up. But it sounds right, doesn’t it?
Callie, my three-legged Border collie mix can’t walk straight because of her missing hind leg. So I can’t blame her when, while on our strolls, she hops in front of me when I’m walking and talking with a friend. At least someone will be there to take me to the ER when I dislocate my kneecap after landing in the gutter.
Skip is an accident waiting to happen. My accident, that is. He’s small and easy to miss as I walk downstairs in the morning. He inevitably rushes ahead of me in anticipation of breakfast. I invariably forget he rushes ahead of me, so every other week I trip on him, grab the banister and yell, “Skip! Don’t you trip me!” But he, too, hardly ever listens.Now don’t get me wrong; I do have a “just in case” plan. At my age I refuse to get Life Alert, so some single friends and I have pacts that if we don’t hear from each other for a week and can’t be reached by cell or email, we’ll summon paramedics.
In my case, chances are I’ll be found sprawled dead in the living room with no evidence of foul play except for three very guilty looking dogs and one indifferent cat.