Birden of Guilt

That while watching the myriad birds dine on the feeder outside - filled by your wife or partner and not you, you lazy so and so - you stroke the cat on your lap (not a euphemism) and wonder at the birds' grace and skill. You neglect to watch the lap cat who has now started to get excited about the flying meals on the other side of the window and has poised itself to pounce.

Then, without warning (that you paid attention to) the claws come out and rip into your spleen and liver while the feline soars, ironically birdlike, across the room toward the window. You feel little pain as you bleed out on your new couch, but you do grin a little in the knowledge that the stupid cat sliced itself to ribbons crashing through the window. And you wonder if you and the cat will soon be reunited in some ethereal place on a comfortable couch with a laptop and a window with a birdfeeder on the other side.