Pandora is Eating me
It was 4 a.m. on a Saturday morning. My well-earned rest from a week at work was disturbed by a sharp pain in my feet.
I thought I was having a nightmare, but I wasn’t. The pain was spreading past my ankle, like the hemlock creeping coldly up the body of Socrates.
I started to sit up and what did I see? A gray creature with black stripes working its way up my leg.
If I were camping in a tent, I would have said a raccoon got in. This was my own bed, and I realized it was our cat Pandora. With my little buddy Yerbie, now deceased, Pandora is top cat (the only cat).
Pandora is eating me. I told my friend Jillian Rossi this, and she, having my silly sense of humor mentioned the Monty Python skit with them starving in the lifeboat, threatening to eat each other (see below).
There’s only one problem. I have no intention of eating Pandora, and I object in the most strenuous manner to Pandora eating me!
Why is Pandora trying to eat the man who feeds her? This is her less than subtle way of informing daddy, that he is too slow in getting out of bed to feed her. Eating me is counterproductive, as I am about to try explaining to her.
I tried to use the Python Lifeboat sketch line of not being kosher.
I have a gammy leg.
She doesn’t believe me.
I need to get the great guns out.
Pandora, I might go better with ketchup.
Pandora, you better hope my limbs regenerate by Monday, or I can’t go to work, which means, no more cat food.
You better not continue to eat me.