Sounds slightly pornographic, but what I felt was the fracture part on each step all the way to the ground.
I had set an alarm for 6:15 a.m. on a cell phone and placed the phone in a holder right next to extra pillows on my bed. Cats are due at the vet clinic at 7:30 a.m. Didn’t hear the alarm but woke up at 7:10 a.m. I bolted out of bed, threw on clothes, baseball hat, shoes, and grabbed my phone and a glass of water. I scurried out the front door and failed to notice that a layer of ice had encased my car, which was parked in the front driveway. I stepped on the first step down the front porch and the aerial acrobatics began.
An invisible sheet of ice was on the stairs. I hit each of the 4 steps in the middle of 7 with a foot, tailbone, ribs, and my head. My phone and wallet, and everything in it, went flying to the left and landed in well-manicured shrubbery below. The glass of water took a first-class airborne journey to the right after bouncing off my belly upside down and draining all the liquid contained therein on me. I landed at the bottom of stairs in what seemed like 2 seconds. I had to roll over on to my hands and knees to stand up. Baseball hat is askew and I have an instant headache. Burning and bruising are emanating from my tailbone region, and I am in some severe pain. The neighbor is out walking his dog, watches what happens and walks up to me wanting to know if I’m OK? “Hell no, I’m not OK, I just bounced and ricocheted off my front porch like a pinball.” It even hurt to laugh, and we are only getting started.
I had to call the vet clinic to advise them I will be late; and the cats not only opened the food pantry in the kitchen, they chewed a hole in a bag of cat food and consumed quantities unknown. I mean, after all, these little brats are totally starving. FYI-Mickey weighs 14 pounds. They told me to bring them anyway, and they will do their neutering last thing for the day. Both cats were staring out my glass front door at all the commotion after the Circus Soliel show. As soon as I pry my ice-encrusted car doors open, I decide to grab Max first as he’s harder to load into the cat carrier. Finally, I get inside the car and start heating up everything, especially iced windows. While the car is warming up, I take a ground floor entrance into the house and gingerly climb the stairs and get a hold of Max. The fight is on. I got him and me locked in a bathroom and I grab a towel. He’s the smaller cat of the 2, and I was successful in getting him wrapped up and crated before the mournful cries for help began.
Max’s brother, Mickey, rushes to the aid of his brother. How convenient. I won’t have to hunt him down. I start to bend over, to pick up Mickey, taking one step forward. I slid on another patch of ice and am, once again, looking at the concrete driveway in the eye. This time, an elbow takes the hit. Thankfully for me, Mickey ran back into the house instead of off down the street. He looks back at his mama strung out again on the ground and hears the wailing of his brother. Max sounds like he is being murdered. In a sing-song tone of voice, I try to coax my Mickey Moose to return to the scene of the howling brother who is now scratching to China to escape the carrier. For one long second, I made eye contact with Mickey, and I read the message loud and clear. That message was, “I know I can outrun you”. I started making my way to my feet simultaneously as Mickey ran for cover. He stopped short of the interior stairway up into the house and I got one hand on him. My soaking wet shoes slip once again on the floor tile and down we both go. I’m not strong enough to hold him with one arm, so he escapes. I decide, in my battered and bruised condition, I best get at least one cat to the clinic. By the time I drive the 20 miles to the clinic location, I’m really feeling the burning sensation in the tailbone region. That’s probably not good.
I get Max signed in at the clinic and explain the story on the missing sibling. Vet staff explains they can wait until I return with Mickey or reschedule. I choose to go back home and attempt to find Mickey because I’m pretty sure I will be in a wheelchair tomorrow. No problem loading Mickey up without a screeching-for-his-life brother on board. I drive the 20-mile trip back to the clinic and deliver cat #2. The vet technician comes out to take possession. She takes one look at me and says, “you better go to the doctor. You definitely appear to be in much more pain than when you delivered Max.” I tell her I have the obvious bruising, but I don’t know what the burning sensation is? I think I broke my tailbone.
Note to Self: I took a peek in the mirror at my backside. It is so black and blue that I think I accidentally changed my DNA.
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