...like what hit the jogger on Center Street one time, over near the library, as he was sweatingly jogging his thin ass off down the sidewalk on which I was the only other in attendance, when suddenly from alongside a blooming lilac bush leaps a cat and strikes the back of the poor guy's lower right calf a blow with its outstretched claws and flees away as the stricken runner drops to the ground with a grunt of pain, blood streaming in rivulets from knee to ankle, cat long gone and me staring wide-eyed in astonishment.
I rush to help him and he says, 'What happened, what happened...' It all was over so quickly - I mean one second and a half into this lightning scratch attack the cat was gone and the guy never even saw it. He couldn't believe it. He had two choices: to look and see what ripped his leg to shreds, or to look to the ground on which he was falling in order to break his fall. Instinctively he went for the sidewalk rushing at him and so missed the cat.
I tell you he was in a state of shock. Me too; for one thing I have five cats and have had a total of nine and I can't imagine one of them doing something like that. Course they are just microcosms of lions, more or less, and as such are predators. This housecat must have reverted momentarily to jungle manners.
The jogger showed much enthusiasm for the vernacular and finally jogged, mind you macho man that he was emulating, away and presumably healed and I went on to the library to jot this down, such as it is; in fact I think I may
have written about this before but each time I embellish it a little so as to
render it unrecognizable, recycling sort of...