Lying on the floor.

Clive has taken to chasing me. As a method of torture, I think, because he knows that I prefer to love him from a distance.

On Saturday night I had to scramble up onto our dining room table in order to evade him. He then proceeded to circle me like a shark, leaving me with no means to escape.

I cannot suppress a little scream every time he sneaks up on me.

Today was absolute insanity. He was pursuing me like never before. Running. Sliding. Jumping. Things would end badly. I could feel it. I felt it as I leapt over his wriggling body crouched before me. I felt it as I dashed to the kitchen with him on my tail (no, the irony is not lost on me). I felt it as I reached for a stool so as to fend him off.

Unfortunately, I tripped on said stool and somehow managed to ram it into our refrigerator with an ear-splitting crack, while also managing to do a half-somersault in the air, hit both of my knees on goodness knows what, and land on my back.

Things ended badly.

The good news is that the stool, in a twisted sort of way, achieved the desired effect. Clive was frightened by the sound and ran away. So I could lay on the floor in peace. Also, I wasn't seriously hurt. So I guess that's good news, as well.

And Melissa got a good laugh. After she was certain I was alright, anyway. Which was really nice of her, I thought.
Melissa: Are you okay?
Me: (between ragged laughter that could have be mistaken as sobbing) Yes, I'm fine.
Melissa: Are you sure? I thought that your face hit the fridge and made that sound.
Me: (more laughter) No, that was the stool. I'm okay.
Melissa: Are you sure? Because if you're not really hurt I'm going to start laughing now.

So my body is slightly more bruised, especially my knees, but that is nothing new, really. And I have learned a valuable lesson: clumsy people should not try to outrun dogs that are faster than them. Things will end badly no matter what. At least if you hold your ground and get taken out by the dog you look like slightly less of an idiot. You may even look a little bit brave. But by running and taking yourself out there is no red badge of courage, only the red of shame in your cheeks.

Lesson learned.