Atticus Flinch

Let's play 20 questions. What is nearly immobile, the size of a grapefruit, all sorts of shades of black and blue, filled with fluid and causes great pain? My right knee, that's what. Atticus the cat, who is by all measures, truly a pain in the Atticus is to blame. Never have I known an animal with such a demonstrable lack of ability to learn. I have tried to reason with him, (by which I mean yell), correct him, (by which I mean swat), and praise him, (by which I mean feed him semi-regularly). For all this fastidious care and rearing, I expect a certain level of decorum and behavior from my pets. Most of them historically have caught on pretty quickly. Atticus is proving to be the exception.

I was putting groceries away after my trip to the store, which if you'll recall I was really looking forward to (read here if you missed it). Trying to make it into the house in one trip, I was heavily laden with plastic bags. Already I was feeling like environmental Hitler for not bringing my eco-weenie renewable bags. I was tired and over it all, after having dealt with great masses of humanity all day.

Atticus is a sheep cat. You've no doubt heard of sheep dogs, animals whose sole intent and purpose is to steer livestock into a corral and/or keep them all together on the open range and safe from predators. These dogs perform a clear and important function in nature being both protector to fellow animals and companion to man.

A sheep cat, alas is a somewhat less useful device. In fact the very idea of the thing is an abomination, (you can't herd cats, let alone allow a cat to herd!). Atticus, God bless him, thinks that by circling my feet and slowly moving me toward his food bowl that I will feed him. He has been warned to not do this. I often give him the stiff shin and send him off in the opposite direction with certain velocity. Yet he does not learn.

Which brings us to my knee. I was unloading groceries, not knowing Atticus was behind me when I heard that sickening "Ow, Daddy, you're hurting me!" sound that only cat owners know. It's kind of like one of those high pitched sirens from an old war movie, it ramps up slowly enough but once it gets going it is a wail of impressive pitch and proportion. Immediately, without thought and with great force I lifted my right foot and leg so as to stop hurting my cat while simultaneously shouting at the top of my lungs, "That's what you get for hanging around my feet!" or words to that effect. In the process, I jammed my knee... hard (!) into the handle of the cabinet door, the design for which must have been adapted from a medieval torture device that was designed to cause great pain to the knees of a monarch's enemies.

I knew, before I even felt the pain that I was about to become very, very unhappy. I actually had the time to flashback to memories of the words that David Banner said during the intro to every episode of The Incredible Hulk- "Don't make me angry, Mr. McGee... you wouldn't like me when I'm angry!"

Pop... the pain steadily and malevolently rose through my spinal column and reached the stem of my hypothalamus where it manifested itself the only way it can in a man. I turned into the Incredible Hulk!

The string of profanity that issued forth came not from my mouth, but from the very core of my being. I did not yell so much as I bellowed. I usually refrain from screaming because my throat closes and my voice gets all reedy and week. I end up sounding more like air escaping from a balloon than anything that resembles a human screaming. I actually surprised myself. Krakatoa had erupted and made Mt. Etna cringe in fear while Atlantis herself took a swim. I could only pound the counter with one fist as the other hand was busy holding me up. I can only imagine what the neighbors thought. I know I sent both cats scattering to their respective hidey holes in a symphony of claws scratching on the wood floors.

It took a full minute for me to collect myself... A long time to be in blinding pain. A few years ago I had two molars drilled without benefit of Novocaine, and up until last night, that had been the worst pain I ever felt. I would rather have every tooth in my mouth drilled without being numbed than go through that again.

Of course the cat was prancing around unharmed within minutes while 12 hours later I am still lame. It is laundry day, too which means up and down the many stairs from bedroom to basement many times over. I have largely ignored the cat since the incident and have only administered the most basic maintenance... food, water, clean litter. I have not gone out of my way to love or dote. I am still mad. He knows it. He sorta runs the other way when he hears me clodding around, like Ishmael listening to Ahab's irregular stumping on the deck above living in abject fear, of what, exactly he does not know.

And this morning, wouldn't you know, he was back to his herding, this time while I was still drowsy on my way down the stairs. I just stopped and looked at him, while contemplating whether to punt him down the stairs or whether to pick him up and carry him down. I picked him up, but not because I took pity on him or showed mercy... he really hates being picked up and as history shows, he doesn't give a wit about being kicked or stepped on.