To any normal person, a simple walk up from the basement isn’t like being a gazelle on the plains of the Serengeti, always looking over your shoulder to see what’s hiding in the bushes or behind a pile of rocks.
To any normal person, at least.
Then there’s me.
I mean, honestly, what part of this photo:
But, in my house, death stalks around every corner. And her name is McFuzzball.
I get close to the stairs and the trap is sprung as she launches herself at my legs.
But, she’s made me wily, as well as clinically paranoid, and my sense of self preservation wins another day. Her plot foiled, she makes a break for the stairs.
And I’m still alive. For now. Until, that is, she learns to do this at the top of stairs instead of the bottom. I tell Mrs. Kalar that I want to move the box closer to the wall, so I can extend my lifespan. But Mrs. Kalar just bats her eyes at me and tells me to leave it there, simply because the cat is having “fun”.
Easy for Mrs. Kalar to say. She stands to receive the other half of the life insurance and death benefits if McFuzzball finally wins.