My cat, Molly, used to have this thing about plastic grocery bags. She loved them, played with them every chance she got. One night she was wrestling with one in the hallway of our old apartment and somehow got the handle around her middle – head and shoulders hanging out on one side, rear legs on the other. The bag wasn’t tight so I just watched her to see what she’d do. She noticed my looking and immediately went into “What bag?” mode. She flopped down inthe hallway floor and pretended to be very interested in grooming herself.
About five minutes later a noise in the living room got her attention and she started trotting down the hall to investigate. Except the bag was still stuck to her, so after about three steps she realized that something loud, rustly and scary was chasing her, and it was right on her tail!
Poor Molly went into light speed. She bolted into the living room, ran across the back of the couch, and then made about two laps around the room before the bag came loose. Then she sped down the hall and hid under the bed. Me, my husband, and the friend that was living with us at the time were all literally rolling on the floor, laughing too hard to stand. For six months after that all one of us had to do was recount the story of When Bags Attack and we’d laugh ourselves into tears.
