There are times when I wake up and feel the cat, Simon, wrapped around my leg. He burrows under the covers, forces his paw under my calf or thigh and holds on to my leg. I imagine it looks something like this:A few nights ago, I woke up as Simon was adjusting his position under the covers. I could feel his head move and I knew he had his face buried in my butt. Normally that would be enough to get me to reach under the covers and throw the cat on to the floor.
But I had to fart.
This was wrong. This was deranged. Man or beast; taking pleasure in blasting one of God's creatures with your flatulence is damaged thinking.
I cut loose with a big one.
Simon didn't move.
What the hell.
He didn't even twitch.
So I waited and hit him again.
I couldn't have killed him. He was still warm.
I started to get a little freaked out. After all, I'm already baffled by how the cat can breathe under all of those covers. Now there had to be massive amounts of methane and bacterial gas trapped like a diving bell around his furry little head.
It was a miracle. My cat has developed some kind of gills. . . or is a fetishist.
I start to laugh. I try to stop myself from laughing because there's no way in hell I want Debbie to wake up and ask me to explain why I'm laughing.
I'm farting on the cat's head, honey. Go back to sleep.
I couldn't take it. I grabbed Simon and (on the off chance I really did knock him out) I placed him gently on the floor.
So far I haven't been able to look the cat straight in the eye. That's going to take some time.