Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how legitimate
my illness, I always sense my boss thinks I am lying. On one occasion, I
had a valid reason, but lied anyway because the truth was too humiliating. I
simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury and I hoped I would
feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I could think up a doozy to
explain the bandage on my crown.
The accident occurred mainly because I conceded to my wife's wishes
to adopt a cute little kitty. Initially the new acquisition was no problem,
but one morning I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard
my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen. "Ed! the garbage disposal is
dead. Come reset it." "You know where the button is." I protested through
the shower. "Reset it yourself!" "But I'm scared!" she pleaded. "What if it
starts going and sucks me in?" (Pause) "C'mon, it'll only take a second."
Soooo.... out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping to make a
statement about how her cowardly behavior was not without consequence. I
crouched down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It is
the last action I remember performing.
It struck without warning, without respect to my circumstances. No, it
wasn't a hexed disposal drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was
our new kitty, clawing playfully at the dangling objects she spied between
my legs. She had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I took
the bait under the sink. At precisely the second I was most vulnerable,
she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her
Now when men feel pain or even sense danger anywhere close to their
masculine region, they lose all rational thought to control orderly
bodily movements. Instinctively, their nerves compel the body to contort
inwardly, while rising upwardly at a violent rate of speed. Not even a
well-trained monk could calmly stand with his groin supporting the full
weight of a kitten and rectify the situation in a step-by-step manner.
Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight" syndrome. Men,
in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option. Fleeing straight up, I
knew at that moment how a cat feels when it is alarmed. It was a dismal
irony. But, whereas cats seek great heights to escape, I never made it
that far. The sink and cabinet bluntly impeded my ascent; the impact knocked
me out cold.
When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Having been fully
briefed by my wife, the paramedics snorted as they tried to conduct their
work while suppressing their hysterical laughter. At the office, colleagues tried
to coax an explanation out of me. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful
to talk. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?"
If they had only known.