The cat is still traumatized. The dining room chair is in pieces on the floor and I am riddled with sore spots. The chair thing isn’t that interesting, just at one moment I was at eye-level with the people at the table and the next minute I was at eye-level with the dog and I was tipsy enough to find it hilarious.
But the cat thing… It’s probably not that funny in the telling, but imagine. You’re at my house and all evening the cat has been strutting around all, “Hey babe. You might not know it, but I’m a pretty big deal around here.” And then you don’t hear from him for a while and FWOOSH the cat streaks around the outer edge of the room with what looks like a bag stuck to his tail, POW through the living room and then he vanishes. We all look at each other and start laughing.
Time passes and there’s no more shenanigans from the cat so we figure all is well and then FWOOSH he comes by again, the thing still stuck to him. So, now two of us set off to find him and free him, which is no small task. But finally, it’s obvious that he’s under the front of the Butcher’s bed. One of us goes to one end, the other goes to the other, and there’s a crinkle noise and a terrible hiss and he is freed from the one-touch wrap.
And then he hid under the bed for the rest of the evening, too freaked out to come out again. I felt so bad for him because he had been all Joe Cool until that point.