(Note: If you haven't read yesterday's blog, I encourage you to do so now, because this is a sequel.)

About a month after Willy's credenza adventure (or my successfully passing the "credenza test"), before heading to the bathroom to get ready for work one morning, I knelt in front of the credenza and looked under to see if there were any cat toys I could retrieve. There was one. It was way at the back, against the wall.

Now, you need to understand that my normal way of retrieving cat toys from under furniture is with a yard stick that lives, conveniently, in the entertainment center just a few steps from the credenza. I don't know what possessed me, this particular morning, to forgo the yardstick and reach under the credenza with my arm instead. Perhaps it was because I was already on my hands and knees in front of the credenza. Perhaps it was because I was in a hurry and getting up and going to the entertainment center, then returning, kneeling, etc. seemed too time consuming. Whatever my reasoning at the time, it was a mistake.

The clearance under the credenza is not quite the width of a cat, laid on its side, as Willy discovered the hard way. I figured my arm was narrower than the body of a cat. I stretched out on the floor, face against the hard wood so I could see the cat toy (a cotton ball about one inch in diameter). Reaching under the credenza, I pushed my arm under, first to the elbow, then beyond. My elbow popped under the edge of the credenza. Now here's the funny thing: it seems my lower arm is much like Willy's upper body…it can be squeezed to fit under a credenza, but once in, it returns to it's normal shape and can't be withdrawn.

I could in fact reach the cat toy–I had it in hand–but because of my elbow, I couldn't pull my arm back out from under the credenza. I tried. It hurt. I feared doing damage to my elbow. Okay, don't panic…breathe…think.

I am pinned facedown to the floor, but I'm okay. I'm still breathing. I'm not in pain. Can I roll over? No, not without breaking my arm. Can I lift the credenza, as I did with Willy? No, I have no leverage–I'm flat on the frickin' floor! I'm stuck! Aargh!

Willy, by the way, was sitting a few inches from my head watching, smiling perhaps, if only inwardly?

My cell phone, I knew, was on top of the credenza. It may have well been in my car. I was only about 20 feet from the front door of my condo; if I heard a neighbor in the hallway outside, I could have called for help, but the door was locked, which would have meant tracking down the building manager, finding a key to my place, then coming in to find me in my bathrobe pinned to my dining room floor. With bed hair.

How long before the people at work wondered if something was wrong and tried calling?

No, this will not do. I gritted my teeth and pulled. I pulled hard. I pulled until my elbow scraped back out from under the credenza.

I still held the ball, which I dropped in front of Willy. He picked it up and trotted off. I went for a band-aid.

I like to think this was a significant bonding experience for Willy and me–man and cat united against furniture. Together we overcame.

Text and image © 2010 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.