Getting up early to make our bed is a routine that I enjoy as much as the cats. I tease them with a smoothed ripple that I drift into the pillows or, like today, a disappearing hand under the afghan. The chase is on every morning as I humor them with play.
Today our black cat, Brother, was particularly determined to catch a wave or an appendage. My hands moved fast as I giggled, watching him try to catch up with my cat-like reflexes. He pawed at me to no avail. I was in charge until I felt a sharp dagger enter my body. I pulled my hand up off the comforter and stopped laughing. My lungs screamed seeing Brother hanging by a finger. Our predicament was similar to a fisherman with a fish hook in his hand but I still had the animal attached. I felt a claw behind my fingernail.
I was scared and so was Brother. A freaked out cat is not something you want dangling from your finger. The decibel of my scream increased as I put my arm on the bed. The movement seemed to untangle us and he sprinted from the room.
Now unhinged, my finger bled instantly spewing forth a red trail to the bathroom. My terror was not over as I put my hand under cold water. I watched our playtime drain away into a crimson waterfall.
My heart was losing blood and also felt horrible for scaring the shit out of our cat. I did my best to apply a bandage and remake the bed. I enjoyed our playtime but wasn’t humored by the first aid treatment.