I'm telling it to you straight.
Between unexpected encounters with sharper than sharp knives and repeated clawings from Angel, I'm beginning to think I can't have much blood left.
With my best red spurting out faster than my body can replace it, surely the tank must be getting a little low now.
It would explain the tiredness, because surely it can't be the cold mornings keeping me in bed later, I like the cold. It's a great reason to have hot coffee and apple pies.
This morning I was getting ready to go out when I noticed something on the bathroom floor. Something that didn't ought to be there. I'd already swept up, where did this bunch of fluff and hair come from?
I bent down to pick it up and out of nowhere, literally, came a streak of black and grey fur fronted by outstretched claws and *slash*, the heel of my hand is opened and gushing blood.
Did I shriek?
You bet I did.
More from surprise, but there was a little pain. One not too deep gash and two just-broke-the-skin cuts.
I could have sworn Angel was out in the back porch. He streaked right back out the minute I shrieked and I didn't see him come back in.
I cleaned and dried, applied antiseptic and a bandaid.
Five minutes later, walking through to the kitchen, I pushed aside the string curtain and Angel jumped at me from the shelf right next to it.
And slashed another finger. Now all four fingers match.
I shrieked again, from the surprise, and yelled at him. (I hope the neighbours don't think I'm committing murders in here). He took off like a rocket, back out to the porch, while I repeated the wash, disinfect, bandaid routine.
Finally, I'm ready to leave. I poured some crunchies into his bowl, called him inside and he sauntered in, calm as you please, king of his world, and settled down to eat. He even purred as I scratched between his shoulder blades.
I said goodbye, he looked up at me, then continued eating.
I'll buy a big new box of bandaids on my way home later.
This is a scheduled post, all of this happened last Friday.
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1 hour ago