I really really don't want to post about my cat. Alas, I have no choice because this is funny stuff.
So, I have this fat orange cat. His name is Oliver, but that doesn't matter. Especially because you never need to call him since he is like a permanent slipper on your right foot wherever you go all day.
Oliver is an affection whore. He must be touched at all times. He shimmies along the walls as he walks, runs his cheeks across anything with a corner, and pulls himself along on his back on every surface throughout the house. Wherever you are, there he will be. Petting himself with your hand without you even noticing.
Well, the other day I was running on the treadmill. Which is next to my bed. Oliver was sitting on the edge of the bed, two feet from me, slowly reaching his paw out toward me over and over as I ran. I'm thinking, 'Of course he knows he can't come near me. He's an animal. They have an innate ability to sense danger? Right?'
His round orange eyes were boring into me, pleading for physical contact. As his reaching became more urgent, I started to consider that he just may get desperate.
Not a second later, the cat jumps. On. The. Treadmill. And. Runs. With. Me.
Never one to overreact, I start wildly yelling "No! No!" as he races behind me. I look over my shoulder and this cat is running like his tail's on fire. His eyes are wild and his face is registering something is terribly wrong with his current situation.
After about five full seconds of sprinting behind me, he realizes he's going to need to step up his game if he's going to make it out of this alive. His eight inch legs start to spin like a cartoon character and he actually manages to run faster than I'm running and shoots off the front of the machine.
Poor cat hid in the bathroom for three days.
I'm taking this as yet another sign that exercising is dangerous and it's much safer to sit and eat french bread. Also, that my cat is...."special".