There’s no other way to say it. I was carrying a chair down the 3 measly steps in my apartment that lead to the living room. My legs got tangled in the legs of the chair and the next thing I knew, I was lying on my back with the chair still in my arms. Pancake ran in to deliver some Doggy First Aid, aka lots of licks.
I minced over to the couch and called my personal physician, Jeanne. She flew into action.
“Did you twist in any way?”
“Did you bump your head?”
“Are you hands bruised?”
“Do you feel dizzy?”
She then prescribed Ibuprofen and said if the pain got worse I should go to the ER. Her final words? “MOVE SLOWLY, FOR CHRISSAKES!”
So it’s been a few days and I am feeling better, though it seems like my tailbone is bruised. (Go ahead, Wiggles. I know this is your cue to tell the “amusing” tale about how you and my other siblings traumatized me when I was a small child, by saying Mah and Dad found me under a bridge and then shaved my fur and clipped my tail and I just looked just like a human baby).
I’ll keep you posted. Meanwhile, every time I hit those stairs, I try to walk like there are books balanced on my head. Is it weird? You bet. But at least I am still upright.