It went like this

Tim and I visited a pub with friends. It being near my birthday, someone bought me a margarita (mm, tangy). About the hour when karaoke started, Tim bought me a birthday Long Island iced tea (pretty good, as well).

I got the idea I should sing. Something short, I thought, nodding my head to other tunes as other folks sang, feeling groovy. I decided it should be Desperado, a song that's sounded all right when I've sung along to it in the car. I have two versions - one by Linda Ronstadt and one by the Eagles. They're both sweet.

The DJ asked if I wanted the key the same or lower than the original. I chose lower. Then I held the microphone close to my lips. My voice? Hm, I thought, where'd that lovely sound go I thought I heard from myself while practicing just now in the bathroom?

So, ahem. I learned something. Thankfully an audience of people who've had a few can be nice to someone singing (sort of) who has had two and doesn't usually (drink or sing). A few couples even got up to dance, slow, to my "crooning."

But to top off my little glow, Tim said he thought I sounded good. He'd had less to drink than I. Lovely husband, who drove me home.

It was then that it happened. The severe wounding, the unwarranted attack. I tipsied myself off toward bed, scuffed into my red slippers, and then noticed Westley the cat. Weird one, our Westley. He gets this crazed look, usually late at night, often when I wear my red slippers. Like a little bull, he suddenly needs to pounce, to gouge.

But I saw Westley's look and the ears pointing backward, and I ditched my slippers quickly. All was well, I thought, but I failed to diligently observe Westley, and as I climbed into bed he sank his claws and teeth deeply into my leg!

That, however, was not the unwarranted attack. I'm sorry to say I did it. In my drunkish state I felt no qualm tossing Westley into a corner, then following him to the living room, lifting him by the tail and sending him out the front door, thusly, into the darkness.

I know I shouldn't have. Under normal circumstances I'd have simply bawled him out quite loudly, but at this point I became a woman of action. Lest you judge me harshly, though, recognize Westley seemed unfazed, unhurt, and fairly relieved that I got him out of my pathway without the usual lengthy scolding.

He didn't come back to the bedroom all night, either.

And here he and I were a couple days later. Me, fully sober; Westley, still not willing to admit his wayward role.See my injury? Well, it's better now. I'm also retired from my career gracing the karaoke circuit.

(By the way, Tim gave me those new, non-red slippers for my birthday!)