Kitty in Flames (Part 2)
It was a bright red harness and leash. I wanted one with rhinestones but couldn’t find one suitable.
The first dressing rehearsal proved a disaster. In typical Beanty fashion, anything on his persons required him to drop to the ground like a possum and feign paralysis. This was repeated several times.
By the time we were able to place him in his carrier while wearing the harness and leash, I thought anything was possible. Patrick was feeling good too. “Let’s open the door to his carrier this time,” he said as we headed out the door for another test walk.
With the carrier on the grass beside a low concrete bench, I took the leash and Beanty begin his inaugural walk. Our eyes grew wide and we exchanged glances. We brimmed with pride. Beanty being a cautious cat, we knew not to make any sudden moves or noises. It didn’t matter really.
Something scuttled in the bushes beside the bench.
The sheer athleticism of cats is astounding. Their ability to jump very high from a standing position is amazing to watch. This is fine, provided they aren’t wearing a harness, attached to a leash, running under a bench, tethered to a 138 pound weight at the other end.
His transformation into bottle-rocket-kitty having come to an abrupt and inglorious end, he moved on to his best impression of kitty-in-flames.
This included looping himself around the legs of the bench at warp speeds, seizure like contortions possible only with a flexible spine, rapid jaw movement and vocalizations known only to voodoo high priests – all while violently battling the red line of death.
We started to grab him but thought better of it. Instead we yelled at each other while Beanty fought his demons in front of the neighbors.
It was an embarrassing moment of defeat. We were dirty, bloody, exhausted and demoralized. Even after cleaning up and licking his mental wounds it was several hours before he would leave the bathroom.
I had another idea about how we could start again but a real genius knows some ideas are better left unsaid.
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