During the weekend, I accidentally stepped on Parker’s tail. I am pretty good at avoiding such mishaps. I think I have done it only a couple of times in the last ten years. I recall putting my foot on Tungsten’s tail early in our acquaintance. It was in the dark and she shrieked. Needless to write, the effect on me was dynamic. She was, of course, more surprised and outraged than hurt.
Parker did not scream or cry. He stood up from where he was lying on the floor, trotted into the library and hid behind the bookcases. I’d not before heard of that reaction in a cat. It took me only a minute to coax the sturdy-boy out from his hiding spot, and he accepted my apology without hesitation. But I felt worse than if he had screamed in pain and indignity. Simply taking himself off to be alone was a harsh punishment for me.
But all is well, and we remain friends. He just asks that I watch my feet in the future. Stepping on tails twice in a decade is, I’m sure he believes, rather too much.