I was in my study, peacefully watching a rerun on the Food Network. I was warm and cozy in my gray sweats and under my blue blanket. All was quiet in the house, as it usually is when I’m home alone. Dan was at work at Meijer. The cat was snuggled up asleep in my arms, and I kissed him on the head without disturbing him. It was a good morning. But that wasn’t going to last.

All at once, I heard a hideous clatter and clang from behind me. It sounded like crashing bottles, clashing metal, and thundering, heavy boxes. It sounded like someone had broken the window behind me and was trying to climb in. Or like the tornado that had destroyed our house in 2019.

Suddenly, I was bleeding and bruised. My arm stung. My ears rang.

Disaster!

It wasn’t an intruder or a tornado, however. It was what we call a stuffalanche. (There’s an interesting portmanteau word for those interested in such things. But I digress.) One of the bottles, boxes, or jars that lived on top of the minifridge had shifted, tumbled off the side, and overturned the garbage can next to it, releasing numerous soda pop cans and other detritus.

Suddenly, the cat was no longer sleeping blissfully in my arms. Toby launched himself like a gymnast on a springboard, flying through the air toward the vaulting horse. Unfortunately, the springboard was my arm, on which he was no longer nestled in comfortable slumber.

When he leapt, he dug in with his death blades. Blood spurted from my arm. In fact, his claws dug in so deeply that he nicked a vein, which spread the blood under the skin and left me with a purple bruise surrounding the puncture wound.

(I secretly suspect that Toby caused this disaster. He sometimes treads where he’s not allowed to go, like the top of my desk. If he pussy-footed across the top of the minifridge at any point, he may have created an instability that later triggered the unfortunate cascade. But I digress again.)

The Michigan Part of the Story

So, why do I say this disaster came from Michigan? That’s where Toby’s from, as far as we can tell. Apparently, he hitched a ride on a Meijer delivery truck that originated at the home office in Michigan and came to the store where Dan works. The cat skulked around the stock room for about three days before Dan was able to nab him and bring him home.

(This wasn’t really all that difficult. Dan has a glowing sign on his forehead that only cats (and a few dogs) can see. It says, “Sucker!” They know it leads to shelter and food. But I digress some more.)

Toby has been with us now for about ten years. He’s still skittish at times (and at other times, like yesterday, more than a little skittish). Most of the time, he is a cuddle-bug, but every now and then, he hides under the bed for some unknown reason. He’s really more attached to Dan, who rescued him, but he will attach himself to me when Dan’s not around.

I guess eventually I will forgive him for the blood and the bruise (probably about the time the bruise goes away or the scab heals). After all, I jumped too when the crash occurred. I just didn’t have anywhere to leap!