It was my fault. The momcat Mister Mittens was sleeping peacefully on the love seat with a full belly when I came downstairs after the getaway at Aqueduct to grab my 28th can of beer out of the fridge (I was only drinking only three cans per race to pace myself). Well anyway, I stumbled over a dust bunny and came down the stairs face first with my chin hitting most of them while my old feet were wiggling in the air. The momcat woke up.
The crash made the huge tom come running from my wife's bedroom and as I lay in a heap he jumped over me to visit his mother. What did she do? She had her 7-year-old son lean over so that she could groom his head, neck and face - places he can't reach with his tongue. She is his mother and he is still her first-born kitten.
