Someone call John Milius up and get him to work on a screenplay for me, because on Saturday night, I got up like an old to go the WC and there was a long, pale piece of thread on the floor (the Bride had been sewing, but this was quite long - longer than a loose thread that would just be lying there) and when, in a sleepy fog, I pulled on it, a certain idjit let out a yowl. The thread was about four feet long, and, somewhere in the dark hallway, it was attached to a rear paw. Apparently torn off the bobbin, the balance of the thread was strewn all around the front room.
After a triage (the thread matched the fur but exactly) it was determined that the thread was wound tight around the leg and scissors were required. This bad kid hates her back legs to be touched, so it was a two-person job and yet my arm is still sliced 'n' diced like that of a sullen 13 year old girl with her first Cure record. So, yeah, a violent procedure!
Milius-tastic!
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