Calling all cat lovers.

These cartoons are just too much fun.

You will have to guess the identity of each of these ladies.

Some have weathered the storm better than others.

And some have never looked better.

Cat Lover or Not, this is hysterical!

We've all had trouble with our animals, but I don't think
anyone can top this one:

Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter
how legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my
boss thinks I'm lying.

On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied
anyway, because the truth was just too darned humiliating.
I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and I
hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I
reasoned, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on
the top of my head.

The accident occurred mainly because I had given in to my
wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty, Initially, the new
acquisition was no problem.

Then one morning, I was taking my shower after breakfast
when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen.

"Honey! The garbage disposal is dead again. Please come
reset it."

"You know where the button is," I protested through the
shower pitter-patter and steam. "Reset it yourself!"

"But I'm scared!" she persisted. "What if it starts going and
sucks me in?" There was a meaningful pause and then,
"C'mon, it'll only take you a second."

So out I came, dripping wet and butt naked, hoping that my
silent outraged nudity would make a statement about how I
perceived her behavior as extremely cowardly.

Sighing loudly, I squatted down and stuck my head under
the sink to find the button. It is the last action I remember
performing.

It struck without warning, and without any respect to my
circumstances. No, it wasn't the hexed disposal, drawing me
into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitty, who
discovered the fascinating dangling objects she spied
hanging between my legs.

She had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I
reached under the sink. And, at the precise moment when I
was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly
offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws. I lost
all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements,
blindly rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight
of a kitten hanging from my masculine region.

Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight"
syndrome. Men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight"
option. I know this from experience. I was fleeing straight up
into the air when the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcefully
impeded my ascent. The impact knocked me out cold.

When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me.
Now there are not many things in this life worse than finding
oneself lying on the kitchen floor butt naked in front of a
group of "been-there, done-that" paramedics.

Even worse, having been fully briefed by my wife, the
paramedics were all snorting loudly as they tried to conduct
their work, all the while trying to suppress their hysterical
laughter... and not succeeding.

Somehow I lived through it all. A few days later I finally
made it back in to the office, where colleagues tried to coax
an explanation out of me about my head injury. I kept silent,
claiming it was too painful to talk about, which it was.

"What's the matter?" They all asked, "Cat got your tongue?"

If they only knew!

Why is it that only the women laugh at this?