Gravity Can Be Deadly

I have narrated before the sad fate of Jingle Fish, one of the Terror Twins’ favorite toys. This catnip-stuffed member of the Osteichthyes survived its entanglement with the ceiling fan and now enjoys a replaced length of fishing line. To save it from the stress of constant predation, it “lives” atop the armoire that houses the television.

The house is all a-tumult today, because apparently Jingle Fish is not the only creature who was living up there. Two refugees from the Hundred Acre Wood have been squatting up there, and when Jingle Fish was summoned for kitty duty today, their cardboard and plastic shack was dislodged and came crashing to the floor.

One of the occupants seems to be mostly all right, if a bit distraught.

Scuttlebutt says he’s normally a morose sort of fellow, though, so his current air of general angst and mopiness may not even be due to the fall.

Sleipnir’s Fetlocks! I spoke too soon!

There’s a hind leg missing from the hock down! I’m afraid, Sweetie, that this will require more advanced veterinary care than a pat on the nose.

You go call the vet and and I’ll see what I can do here. Maybe I can find the missing leg.

But hold! What are these?

They look vaguely foot-like. Perhaps one of these would do?

“P-p-p-pardon me. I b-b-believe those are mine.”

Oh, my. This porcine candy-hugger appears to have lost both of his legs. I’d say that he’s lucky to have a cane to help him get about, but the use of a cane is predicated on having at least one functional leg.

See? There he goes! I’m not sure even the most experienced vet could help the fellow now. And see that black spot on near the toe? Even it the leg could be reattached, it appears that gangrene is setting in.

Nope, nothing for it. Sorry, folks.

On the bright side, I think we’re having my favorite dinner tonight.

Mmmm. Roast pork!

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