I don't think the universe wants me to go to work anymore. First it was an empty fuel tank, then it was the state fair traffic, and this morning... it was a cat attack. Yes, you read that correctly - a cat attack.
This morning I noticed a large, grey tabby cat sitting on the hood of my car. I live in a small town, so loose cats are a common sight. Maybe not on the hoods of cars, but it still wasn't entirely surprising. As I approached the car, I waved dismissively at the cat, expecting it to hop off and run away. That is not what happened.
Instead, the cat let out a battle-meow and launched itself at me. I barely had time to raise up my arms to protect my face before it was on me, hissing and spitting like Grimalkin from Curse of the Demon.
At once, it was over. The grey fiend shot off into my neighbors' bushes, and I was left shellshocked and bleeding. I went back inside, cleaned the blood off my arms and counted - seven. No, eight. Eight red, angry gashes. Two on my left arm, three on my right arm and three on my right palm. Ouch.
I got to work about five minutes late - not too bad, considering I'd battled a demonic feline less than an hour prior. I realized that I'd forgotten to pack extra bandages, so I went downstairs to see the company nurse.
Me: Hi... may I have a few band-aids?
Nurse: Sure, what do you need them for?
Me: I was attacked by a cat this morning, and I forgot to bring extra band-aids with me.
Nurse: *looked up from her paperwork with an odd expression on her face, said nothing*
Me: See? Cat attack! *showed nurse arms covered in band-aids*
Nurse: .... did this happen at work?
Me: What? No! It happened on my way to work!
Nurse: Oh.... kay.... *handed me a stack of band-aids*
I found this exchange extremely funny. It was obvious that the nurse had never been approached by an associate needing bandages for a cat attack before. I work for an insurance company, so cat attacks are not something she probably expected to have to deal with on a day to day basis.
Now I know what you're thinking, and trust me - I've thought about it too. The R-Word. I do not believe this cat was rabid. It was not acting rabid... I think it was just pissed off that it had to remove its butt from my car at 7 o'clock in the morning. There is also the I-Word... infection. Don't worry, I am keeping the kitty-slices clean and well-slathered with Neosporin. I shall be fine.
But if I see it roaming the streets, that cat had better run. Run for however many lives it has left. I shall have my vengeance.