Bugonmyleg! Bug! On! My! Leg!

I just felt something brush my leg. For some reason, my first response to this is always the same: I panic, and think it's a bug.

It's never a bug. It's almost always the cats. On occasion, it's my imagination... Probably a sign of encroaching dementia. (Or dementia that's already fully croached, but that's another story.)

This time, yes, it was the cat. It was Nitwit, the super-skittish kittenlike cat who adopted me when she was a feral, smelly, underfed, uncivilized baby mudball who snuck into my house in search of free food, and safety from river critters. She got stuck with me, and has probably lost her outdoor skills. But how often does she really need to start a fire by rubbing two sticks together anyway, now that she lives in a house?

She's still super-skittish. And, of course, when I felt her fur brushing my leg, I jerked it away in sudden surprise and panic. I gasped in so much air, I'm amazed I didn't have a coughing fit.

But Nitwit! She actually leaped backwards six full feet! She landed, back arched, claws in full attack readiness. Her ears were back, her eyes wide, her tail bushed out... Damn, it almost made me want to panic more often, just so I can see her freak out in response.

She's skittish, she's kittenish... Should I call it "skittenish?" Could that catch on?

Damn it! It happened again! Darn you, Foofoo! I think I'll go to bed, just so my heart doesn't asplode.