Bruised breast

I think my left breast is bruised. And it didn’t get that way in any sort of fun, interesting fashion either.

Last night there was much storming–lighting, thunder, deluge of rain. Hobkin, being a small animal of wee brain, was a bit disconcerted by it. So I picked him up to comfort him, and he was hiding his head under my arm, clinging in the fuzzy, clingy way he gets when in stressful circumstances.

Then, for no reason that I can see, no sudden bang of thunder, no big flash of lightning, he gets too freaked to hold still and leaps off me to go scamper under the hutch in the kitchen and cower there. Using my breast as a launching point. Ouch.

And the odd thing is, the last thunderstorm didn’t phase him at all.

Silly beastie.

And ouch.

Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Bruised breast

  1. mouseferatu says:

    Damn. So many potential comments, but all of them would get me in trouble with George and/or you and/or Matthew… 😉

    Hope you feel better, though.

  2. silicates says:


    I, too, can think of a variety of comments, about my own life…but they wouldn’t make any sense to you.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *