cats

It was a beautiful Norwegian summer. The sun was out, the rain had stopped and the midges was not out (yet).

I was around 8 or 9 and only wearing a pair of shorts feeling the sun kiss my shockingly white skin, while I carried our cat outside. She was laying over my shoulder. She purred and purred. It was bliss.

Then my mother pulled the cord and fired up the lawn mover. The cat used me as a ramp as it took off and ran inside to hide under the couch.

As a man in my 40s, I have both physical and psychological scars from that day.