It’s official.

I  stared out the window while Jeff, the back-guy, discretely checked the condition of my ass. A little moment of stunned silence.  Then my chiropractor let out a low, slow whistle through his teeth.  “That is a really deep bruise,” he said. “What did you do?”

“I fell.”

And the tale began so simply–with a spot on the tile, a bottle of Lysol and Missy’s water bowl.

You know that movie Signs? And the little girl had this weird need to drink a lot of water? But she was very picky about the water? As a result there were a helluva lot of half filled glasses around the house? Well, our cat Missy is kind of like that. A small saucer doesn’t do it for her. There might be drought. She wants a big, honkin’ bowl, and she prefers that it be topped up frequently.

Missy is 16 yrs old. You don’t mess with a geriatric cat with a passion for pre-dawn caterwhauling. Consequently, her bowl is a huge silver mixing bowl which is never less than half-full.

The spot on the floor was about ten inches away from her bowl. Missy hunkered down and watched me clean the spot, her tail twitching in what may or may not have been a threatening manner.

If we have to be picky with the details of what happened next, I have to own that I may or may not have said something nasty in reply to my feline friend. That’s really immaterial, and if Karma thinks I deserved what I got because I may have dissed my cat, well then Karma can kiss my…

Anyhow, spot taken care of, I put on the coffee. And then because it was freakin’ dawn, and I hadn’t had my caffeine, I forgot all about the greasy residue that Lysol leaves on ceramic tile.

The moment my bare foot slid on the Lysol smear, I thought, “This is so going to hurt.”

I hate it when I’m right.

Both legs shot up in the air, and I came down hard on my ass. Thud. A moment later, the back of my head landed into Missy’s water bowl.  Splash.

Husband heard the ba-bump and came pelting down the stairs to discover me laying in a pool of water. “Bear,” he said very cleverly. “You’re all wet.”

The bottom line is this: Jeff the back guy is sending me for X-rays to determined whether or not I actually cracked my tail bone because my right butt cheek looks like Stallone’s face at the end of Rocky II.

So it’s official. I can say without any exaggeration that I have found working on the edits for Hedi’s next adventure one enormous PAIN IN THE ASS.

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About Leigh Evans

Leigh's an urban fantasy writer, living in Southern Ontario.
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12 Responses to It’s official.

  1. noraadrienne says:

    Shades of accidents past. My cousin Arnie (the dentist) broke his tail bone years ago, He slipped going down the stairs in the house. He had to be around by his wife for weeks. He had to ride lying down on the back seat, and use a donut for the few times he could sit.

    I hope you feel better soon. It’s really not a laughing matter.

  2. I have to tell you, I’m uncaffeinated, so I didn’t even laugh. I winced in heartfelt sympathy, because, I too, have injured my tailbone. I cracked it at the end of the school year in 8th grade, because I was too busy flirting, stepped back, tripped and fell into a sharp chair edge.

    Naturally, I could not let on to the object of my unrequited adolescent love that I was in severe pain. I also had a dance recital in two days. (Did the recital. Hurt like a bitch). I even laid on my stomach and let the docs attach stupid electrodes to my ass that were supposed to make the pain better. (They didn’t, but 20 yrs later those things helped in childbirth so the docs get a pass on that one).

    But I absolutely refused to carry around the blow-up donut to sit on during finals. My mother was furious. I was adamant. No amount of pain was worth that humiliation.

    I hope it’s just a bone bruise, which is bad enough. Unfortunately, I do not believe you can retaliate against the cat. That can only end badly. Cats have mystical powers of revenge which must not be trifled with. We both know she’s laughing right now.

  3. Ouch! But maybe your next book series could be about a shapeshifter that wrecks havoc in the underworld. Her goal? To establish a new world order where geriatric cats rule the world. Wait. Missy’s already in charge. Scratch that.

  4. Denise says:

    Cats are strange, magical creatures with a direct line (and heavy influence) to Karma. I’d keep the water bowl full and not look her directly in the eyes for a while. You know, just a precautionary measure.

    Hope your tailbone isn’t cracked. I cracked mine as a young adult and it was, as you’ve verified, a pain in the ass. I fell off a horse and landed on my patooty and couldn’t get up immediately, it hurt so bad. Unfortunately I had to ride the horse back to the barn (we were training for a cross-country event) and THAT was the worst part of the whole ordeal. I wonder if that horse had a barn cat that hooked him up with Karma. Hmmm.

    Get well soon.

    • Leigh Evans says:

      It’s amazing how many of us have hurt our tail bone. I winced for you about riding the horse back to the barn. That must have sucked big-time.

  5. Shasta Young says:

    Oh My! Bless Your Heart! Hurting Your Tailbone is a b*tch! I have broken mine and cracked it twice! ( I was a rough child ) Neither was a nice experience! I think cracking it was worse than a full break.. Hope You Have a Speedy Recovery!!

  6. B says:

    As a bruiser of tailbone also, I wholly sympathise and reccommend lots of cushions! I hope you like to sleep on your stomach because that was the hardest part part of the ordeal for me.

    Speaking of Hedi, it just means she’s got spunk and character and she’s gonna fight you for every word! =) But how else would the journey be satisfying otherwise? :)

    XOXOX *hands cushion*

  7. Lynne Caughell says:

    That has to be one of your funniest blogs yet. And I too, know what it’s like to have had a geriatric cat, ( nearly 18 year old gray Tabby, named K.C.), with a an OCD for having bowls of water everywhere in the friggin’ house. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve either tripped on or spilled those damn bowls of water.

    On a more somber note, I read the other blog, “Sleep well, Missy”. Coincidentally enough, we also lost our own K.C. to a lethal combo of liver cancer and FIP, early yesterday.

    Never thought I’d say this……I really miss those idiot bowls ot water.

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