Last night, i made a terrible mistake. I half-woke and in the drowsy roll-over, my hand landed on Doolittle, sleeping as he often does right up against my left hip. I gave him an affectionate pat or two.....
Not realizing that, in my stupor, I had broken the cardinal rule of our cease-fire: i touched his belly.
He nipped my hand, and i moved to pat his head, murmuring an apology in a sugar voice. But no... that was not good enough. He went into full attack mode.
I'm not exaggerating. If i hadn't been wearing my wrist braces, he would have severed an artery. instead, i felt his teeth trying to gnaw thru it, then moving up to my elbow for tender meat.
I pushed him away, yelping "ow" which I thought by now he realized was the human equivalent of saying "Uncle." Or begging for mercy.
Faster than light, he was back on my arm, this time more violently, claws digging in. This time I pushed him hard, nearly knocking him of the bed, yelling "QUIT IT!"
Doo leapt at my HEAD. Only a lucky block by my right arm kept him from biting my nose. I kid you not, every so often he acts like he's freakin' rabid and wants to rip my heart out.
I ducked under the covers, careful to tuck arms and hands under as well, and played dead.
For a moment, he just stood on my chest, sniffing at the sheet, as if thinking, "Where did she go? What's this whimpering lump? Should I bite it?"
Finally he meowed loudly -- triumphantly perhaps -- and jumped off the bed, retreating to the guest bed, which he considers his anyway. Hell, he considers everything his....
He's a bad, bad kitty. Sometimes he downright scares me. I don't know if I should call it Ninja Kitty or just plain Psycho Kitty.
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