I almost killed one of my cats last night, not purposely of course. Headed back to get to bed I stopped for a second not knowing that ‘Gandy’, short for ‘Gandalf’, crawled under my power chair (which weighs a couple hundred pounds) from behind and positioned himself precariously in front of my wheel. I started forward and all hell broke loose. Gandy cried and screamed I panicked and just went forward over the bump which was the cat. He flew out of the room with my wife chasing after. When I turned around the only thing I could see was a large clump of orange fur laying on the carpet. Everyone woke up in the house from all the mayhem that ensued. Once they checked out his little leg and he stopped limping we went to bed. All the while thinking how I could have crushed him in some really horrible way.
This morning when I came out for my morning coffee he caught one glimpse of me and bolted out and into the basement. We got him back up and I swear he was giving me hateful looks. When he would pass me he took a convoluted path as far away from me as he could get. The rest of the day my wife kept repeating, “your FATHER ran over the cat, that’s why he’s hiding in the basement today.” To emphasize it later she said (half serious), “You ruined our cat.” At this time I felt bad enough didn’t need the further shame and guilt. So Gandalf hates me now but I know for sure he’ll never go under my chair again. Live and learn.
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