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I was sitting here at the computer (as usual on any given evening).
Earlier, I had been through the hall closet looking something, and had left out a few things. One of these things was a plastic gift bag with long plastic handles which now lay on the floor, an evident invitation to my thoroughly laid-back kitty.
Suddenly, my cyberdaze was shattered by my usually docile cat now doing frantic laps around the apartment. He had tried to make that bag a hideout, and had inadvertently popped his head thru one of the handles. And then he realized that he couldn't simply walk away.
I have never realized how much ground there was to cover in this one bedroom apartment, or how fast this cat could cover it. He was almost lapping himself in a desperate attempt to outrun that bag, but it just wasn't working. Faster and faster he ran, but no matter how fast he went, that bag was right on his ass, about to overtake and devour him at any moment.
My empathy for his trauma couldn't stop me from doubling over at the sight.
Finally, as I tackled the poor pursued pet, yelling "kitty! kitty, stop!" thru the laughter and the tears, the chase ended. I held his body and slipped the bag off of his head, and he took a place behind the couch, guardedly watching as I proceeded to cut the handles off of the bag. And there he has remained. Poor thing.
And I thought I had a rough day.
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