Blind Murphy ruined my Sunday by attempting to gouge out my eyes.
At the dawn of the last day of rest before another work week, I woke to feel Blind Murphy walking along the ridge of my lower body as I lie on my side in bed, his claws puncturing through the blanket and piercing my legs.
Blind Murphy is constantly terrified of falling off the edge of the world at any moment, so he walks with his claws outstretched. I assume this is so he can be ready to grab a hold of something before he goes over. My husband makes fun of him for this, saying, “It sounds like he’s wearing high heels when he walks across the hardwood floor.” I don’t contradict him because the clacking against the floor with each step indeed sounds like Blind Murphy is wearing stiletto heels, but I refuse to make it a subject of humor because I would probably be just as cautious.
I expected Blind Murphy to bed against my crotch, a typical spot of his since the day I rescued him. I agree that this is not a place I would prefer him to be while I am sleeping. Turning over without disturbing him requires a tuck of my cricket legs that a performer from Cirque du Soleil would find challenging. Also, there’s just something emotionally uncomfortable about having your favorite cat tightly curled against your scrotum. However, this Sunday morning, Blind Murphy trekked beyond my lower body, clawing his way along my torso.
Feeling his claws pinch the skin of my shoulder, I opened my eyes and slowly rolled onto my back assuming my affectionate cat came for morning cuddles. But I don’t know if that was his intention as the last thing I saw before the piercing pain hit my eyeball was Blind Murphy’s sharp, middle claw rapidly approach my eye as he stepped on my face.
You know that scene in Terminator 2 when the T-1000 shoots its liquid metal index finger through the security guard’s eye? I imagine that pain to be comparable to what I experienced. It was sharp and bright and not a way you want to wake up on the day of the Lord.
To Blind Murphy’s possible dismay, I wasn’t blinded by the vicious attack, but blinking was quite uncomfortable and rolling my eyes (a motion I perform more on a regular day than the average) was out of the question. Thankfully, a few drops of some sort of numbing liquid from the doctor remedied the pain (though the administration of it burned like Hell) for a few hours. And now I have to apply an anti-inflammatory/antiseptic eye drop four times a day for a week, a task that serves as a reminder of my cat’s dark side.
I have yet to ascertain Blind Murphy’s motive for his assault, but I assume it has something to do with forgetting National Cat Day (or whatever cat people call it). But I promise not to overlook this stupid holiday next year. Until then, I’m sleeping with swim goggles on my face.