Oh Boy. This crossed the line between humour and sheer, unmitigated terror.
I was minding my own business, on the computer in the living room, when a familiar series of barks came from the bedroom window out at the back alley.
I basically ignored Lamont's latest antics. Until Uncle Buddy leaped, as it were from a 13 year old's creaky feet, and charged into the other room. Simultaneously with the screen window breaking. And the sound of the grinder of the city garbage truck below. From the second floor window.
I leaped up, as a 52 year old does, and ran to the window. Where there was a ripped screen. And three very confused black fellows in orange jumpsuits below: Two looking down and one looking up. And Lamont, prostrate, on his back, by the trio's feet, with his tongue hanging lifeless on the right side of his mouth.
I don't remember what I said. Maybe nothing or maybe a loud, terrified cry of undirected protest. And I tore downstairs, thru the garden, out the gate, and into the alley.
I wanted to lash out, but at whom? I scooped up the incorrigible Lamont, and ignored the shocked, befuddled Sanitation Engineers.
Lamont opened his eyes and winked at me. I wanted to slap him upside the head.
I gave him a big smooch. "Lamont!!??!@#!!. You are going to be the end of me!!" And I carried the seemingly rather entertained Lamont back upstairs. He smooched me.
I am not sure whether to put him out of my misery or hold him so close he can't ever, ever get out of my sight again.
It might take a few minutes to get my heart rate back to normal. ■