Sometimes, life is like a slapstick comedy and my cats are Buster Keaton.
Tucker has always been timid. He will often come over to me and rub his fuzzy head against my leg, just to tell me he likes me. But if I move as he is approaching - I sometimes don’t see him coming - he will take fright and retreat. Noises startle most cats - except Tungsten - but they scare Tucker and send him seeking cover.
Because of Tucker’s physical condition, I check his nether regions now and then, to clean him so as to prevent infection. Naturally, he dislikes this. Last night, I took him into the bathroom to do the necessary chore. He was nervous enough to begin with.
Then, I knocked a plastic cup onto the floor. This made the roly poly one scramble for the door. I caught him between my shins, but as I did so, I elbowed a roll of toilet paper off the counter. It struck Tucker on the bum and made him squirm out of my hold. As I turned to grab him, my knee caught the toilet-seat lid, lifted it briefly and dropped it. The bang that resulted shot Tucker out of the bathroom and into the corridor beyond. I managed to seize him, inadvertently taking hold only of his tail. Fortunately, it’s a strong one but it nevertheless caused a squeal.
By this time, Cammie and Kola had come to see what the fuss was about. Cammie, who detests any sounds of struggle, was hissing at all and sundry, while Kola appeared to be enjoying the discomfort of his enemy. The others were hiding on the bed in anxiety - except for Tungsten, who was sleeping.
At last, I scooped up my tubular cat, eased him over on his back and cleaned him. He wasn’t very dirty, after all.
A few minutes later, the uproar was forgotten. The cats were settled peacefully again and the roly poly sausage looked like this. Take a bow, Tucker.