Cat Attack
Our cat was laid back. Not as much as the Peanuts cartoon cat with no bones, but pretty close.
One summer we dubbed her “Roadkill Bob” because she’d spread eagle out on the brick patio as flat as her hugely pregnant body would allow.
My beastly brother discovered he could pet her any direction and she’d come back for more (she was a little attention seeking and he was just naughty). One hot day he mined the limitations of her patience. Back combing with wet hands was not her cup of tea.
He lived through, “When cats attack…,” before the advent of reality television. I don’t recommend trying this at home.
Roadkill Bob chased Matt a very long way that afternoon.
He sustained a few scratches in his dignity.
Oh wait, no the dignity was never in danger. He cackled as he ran and a new stupid person trick was born.
Yes, Bob always ended up making her feelings known about back-combing.
Some people love to rub others the wrong way, too.
Not that I know this by experience.
I refer to them as human sandpaper. Usually fine grit, kind of the equivalent to a dripping faucet at midnight.
Sometimes they behave the way they do because they love to see you react like Roadkill Bob.
Just a dreg to ponder…
