Yesterday my hubby and I were having a mellow afternoon, just playing games and, relaxing in front of a fire. A scream broke through the silence of our home from upstairs. It was that kind of scream where you know that someone is hurt.
Hubby and I ran quickly up the stairs to see what was going on. My son was screaming hanging onto the ladder of his bed, with the cat hanging off of him.
I guess what had happened is that the dog had scared the cat onto the top of my sons loft bed. This happens quite often in our house, the dog goes running after the cat, the cat runs and hides from the dog up high- no big deal, well, usually.
My son decided that he would "rescue" the cat from the bed by taking her down the ladder (while the dog happened to be in the room still). The cat was still freaked and clawed onto the first thing that she could reach, which happened to be my son.
So there they both are, hanging, clawing, crying.
We pull the cats claw out of my son's belly and look at his tummy, we give him hugs and kisses, and explain that there is no need to "rescue" the cat. We explain the cat is perfectly capable of defending herself from the suicidal beagle.
We go back downstairs to continue in our relaxing afternoon. My son is still sobbing in tears. He keeps pulling up his shirt to look at his "massive gaping wound" that he has.
The melodrama doesn't stop there. He looks over at my husband and between sobs says "Thank you Dad for saving my life."
And here it is, the horrific wound that caused all the drama.