The Nails

Joey needs his nails clipped, immediately.

Last Friday morning, as I sat at my desk and got lost in my work, I could hear Joey softly purring to my left. I glanced over and saw him sitting at the very edge of my black leather office chair, staring at me quizzically with his head tilted to the side.

Though we had been roommates for nary a week, I already knew what this look meant. Joey wanted to spend some leisure time in my lap, hoping to get lucky.

Now get your minds out of the gutter, people! We're not talking bestiality here! In Joey's world, "getting lucky" means getting some attention through a vigorous stroking of his backside.

Hmm... probably a bad choice of words.

Nevertheless, I rolled my chair backwards on its four wheels and gave Joey ample room to hop aboard.

I've noticed it always takes him two distinct motions to jump the 18 inches from the ground to my lap. The first gesture results in Joey leaving his hind paws on the carpeted floor and stretching his front paws to the edge of my chair's unforgiving, taut cushion, freezing in that position for a few seconds. This action is akin to Evel Knievel recording the size of Snake Canyon with the world's largest tape measure. It's easy to tell that Joey is getting his bearings before making the final leap into my lap.

Then his hind quarters start to shiver. Its almost as if you can see the potential energy in his legs transfer into kinetic energy. Then in one foul swoop his front paws let go of my chair and he bursts into the air only to land squarely in my lap.

Once he has the chance to get situated, I then pull my chair closer to the desk and commence working once more.

These events had transpired constantly throughout the week with nary a problem.

Until Friday morning, when Joey decided that he had tired of the comfortable confines of my lap earlier than usual and, much like Nic Cage, was gone in 60 seconds.

Whenever Joey decides he is ready to roam the great plains of my house once more, he stands up with his front paws on one of my thighs and his back paws on the other thigh. He then places pressure on my legs and leaps back to the ground.

On Friday, as Joey went through his traditional exit strategy, I bore the brunt of his long nails, which dug deeply into my fleshy thighs, causing excessive pain.

I did my best G.O.B. impersonation and yelled "COME ON!"

Joey scurried out the office faster than Usain Bolt.

Memo to self: Tell JM to use my tainted nail clippers and give Joey's paws a vigorous once-over. I would do it myself, but I'm nowhere near comfortable enough with Joey to even give it the old college try. I still have flash backs of the "almost bite" sailing through my head.