Imagine you're walking through your living room without a care in the world. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping… but where is Sir Whiskers? Normally you can see him curled up on the arm of the couch in his usual spot… Then he hits you, full force at the ankle; he's equal parts gnashing teeth, slashing claws, and tail floof, drawing blood relentlessly as your surprised yelps echo in the house. It's another well-executed ankle attack. After your wild-eyed creature who launched from underneath the coffee table skitters away into the other room, you examine the damage on your ankles. Yup, he's doing his ancestors proud by turning you into a poked and prodded shish kabob. You really should start rethinking that catnip that turns your kitty cuckoo like this. Welp, when Whiskers emerges again, you'll be more prepared with a pair of high socks, a swatter, and maybe riot gear.
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