My mother would rap me a good one if I hit a girl when I was six or eight or ten or thirty or forty or fifty. You just didn't hurt a girl. The Marine Corps during Vietnam wasn't happy with anybody that shot a female VC prisoner. I'm married almost 38 years and keep my hands down while my wife rants and raves and shoots that good Irish left hook into my head.

On a serious note I came downstairs to snag a beer earlier and little Shiloh was wrestling with her tomcat brother at the bottom of the stairs. I tried to step over them but Shiloh rolled over and I stepped on the back end of her tail. She screamed in pain and ran off in a small white blur.

I could not find Sweet Babycakes a bit later and my wife told me that she was either under the bed in the master bedroom struggling with great pain or clawing her way out of a window to get to an ER while pretending to be a Mexican cat.

With all laughs aside the good news is that I did not injure my precious female cat. Small Sweet Babycakes was napped out on my wife's bed and mewed with joy when I petted her head, her back, her chest, and made sure her tail was still straight.

I've done that a few times, cats have a way of entangling themselves with your feet. They certainly let you know you've made the wrong move