In the wee hours of the morning, Huckleberry jumped up on the nightstand and buzzed at me, as he often does.
Then, uncharacteristically, he jumped back down and scampered off.
A moment later, he was back. In a hurry. Perhaps even a panic.
I don't know if his target was the nightstand or the headboard, but he botched his leap.
And landed on my face.
With his claws out.
Only drew blood in one place: a great long scratch across temple and forehead.
Not having any really long skinny Band-Aids, I cleaned it up and goobered on some liquid-bandage stuff, hoping to avoid leaking on my pillow.
Maybe I should trim the critters' claws. And get them used to having them trimmed every week or so.
Because, if they're going to disregard the Four Rules of Claw Handling, they just can't have sharp claws, can they?