Once I broke my big toe and bruised the living crap out of my thigh in the following sequence of events:
1. Using two hands, I picked up the telephone from the end table.
2. The kitten, under the end table and unseen by me, poked me lightly in my bare big toe with a single claw.
3. My lightning reflexes, inferring that something very like a rat was making a snack of my toes, instructed my leg to spaz backward, yanking my foot out from under me.
4. I tried to set the phone back down without breaking it in the process of toppling over.
5. My lightning reflexes, in an attempt to compensate for their earlier mistake and keep me from eating a table lamp, shot my foot back in the forwardly direction, where it collided with a table leg.
6. I cried out in pain and totally fell over a chair.
7. By this time, the kitten was on a plane to Zanzibar.
I also broke my collarbone once, getting the dog to chase me. I was pretty drunk, running downhill, in the dark, over uneven terrain, in loose shoes. There's a reason why some pro athletes have an anti-pets clause in their contracts.
I still can't top throwing your back out while applying deodorant.
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