In an increasingly common occurrence, area man Andrew Hecht was rushed to Berkeley Alta Bates hospital following a major cardiac arrest induced by his two cats, Makelani and Filemu.
The events unfolded around 10:33pm when Mr. Hecht opened his bedroom window before going to sleep because of the unusually warm evening. In a sleep deprived state, also caused by the cats, he opened the window just a bit too much, investigators said. They estimate sometime between 10:33 and 10:47, the cats slipped silently out the window.
Mr. Hecht was able to rescue both animals, return them safely inside and call 911 before losing consciousness. He was rushed to the hospital after EMT first responders discovered him passed out the floor of his living room.
“It was ugly”, said EMT Jarvis Greenview, the first licensed medical person to arrive responding to the man down call. “I arrive on scene. I notice the ‘man down’ is still down. And the cats were just sitting on him. Surveying the situation and surroundings, it was clear as day: the cats did it.”
In the past year alone, Greenview has been called to the scene of 43 cat-related coronary incidents.
Mr. Hecht was rushed for emergency treatment to Alta Bates where he revived after several hours in the operating room.
“Mr. Hecht is lucky to be alive”, said James Gostowski, Head of Cardiology at Alta Bates. “Feline-induced Myocardial Infarction is one our top killers. It’s one the most fatal forms of cardiac arrest.”
Feline-induced Myocardial Infarction (FIMI) is an acute episode of heart disease marked by the death or damage of heart muscle due to insufficient blood supply to the heart muscle usually as a result of a coronary thrombosis or a coronary occlusion. It is characterized especially by chest pain, shortness of breath and proximity to one or more cats.
Aasif Gupta, a third year cardiology intern at Alta Bates, summed it up. “Sure, cats can be cute, and, while not fully researched, the healing powers of purring is undisputed in the medical community. But they are killers.” Gupta added, “you’d be foolish to keep one or more at home.”
Mr. Hecht will remain at Alta Bates for several days under close observation. When reached for comment, Makelani and Filemu just stared blankly.
So, I managed to get through a week of flinging myself around Vail and Beaver Creek with nary a scratch. I skied hard and i skied fast and I had tons of fun. I almost got away unscathed, but on get away day (a day we didn’t even ski), I almost managed to destroy myself.
We were playing around and taking photos on the pirate ship that sits at the base of Vail Village. The deck of the ship is covered with snow and it’s super slick, but I got it in my head anyway that I was going to take the slide that escapes from the bow and I managed to slip off the side of the ship where the webbing leads up to the deck. Fuck that hurt. I jammed my left thumb trying to keep myself from going ass over tea-kettle, which I did, but I scraped the shit out of my left calf along the gunwhale, or what there was of one.
I felt like a fool. It’s a good thing very few people were around to see it.
Fucking cats! Long story short. Cutting a baguette. Fil jumps on the counter. Distracted, I slice right through the bread and into the meat of the middle finger of my left hand. Clamly, I stopped the bleeding (temporarily) and finished making my proscuitto and brie sandwich (the rabbi would be proud). When the flow wouldn’t stop, I headed off to the emergency room. 3 1/2 hours later I was discharged with 4 stitches and a dull a ache in my index finger. Fucking cats.
Pictures from the cellphone are here.
Since I had a good idea that Russell and I were going to be only people up at the house this weekend, I decided it was time to pick up all the clothes that have lined my bedroom floor or been stuffed in the closet up to Tahoe and run them all through the washing machine. I brought four bags of laundry. Russell was laughing at me when I jammed them all in the Pig, but, fuck it, I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to clean and purge.
So we get up here, move all the bags into the house and I start running loads. The first load goes fine, but I use up the last of the laundry powder. When I put the second load it, I just grabbed the plastic bottle and started pouring it on top of my clothes before I looked at the label. As I was pouring, I noticed the word “Bleach” prominently featured on the label. Fuck!
I tried to wash of the bleach under the flume of water streaming down on the clothes, but to no avail. Large white and magenta spots started to appear all over the clothes. Sigh. I just ran the load and just planned to deal with it when it was all dry.
There were a few causalities, a few shirts I liked, a pair of khakis from the Gap, some sheets, but nothing in there was less than 5 years old and in general, my wardrobe is pretty dated. I haven’t bought much in the way of clothes since I got back from Samoa which means that most of what I wear is at least two years old. Some it dates back to college.
So it’s probably time to rid myself of some of these old duds anyway and if it takes a laundry room mishap to force my hand, so be it.
It’s almost inevitable. Every time I drive up to Tahoe, somewhere in between Sacramento and Placerville, I start panicking because I think I’ve forgotten my toiletry kit (with my contacts). I try to remember putting the kit in my bag, but I can’t. I have no memory of it all. I’m freaking out because I can’t ski without my contacts. Then the panic subsides because I figure I can just buy one of those pairs of goggles that fit over glasses. I relax. Then I get to the house, open my bag, search around, can’t find my kit, feel like an idiot, then I find it buried under a sweater or something and feel, again, like an idiot, for even worrying about it first place and going through this panic-relax-panic cycle again. Usually that’s the end of it, but this time, I had the same reaction on the way back down to Alameda. I thought I forgot my kit in the house. I panicked. I try to recall putting the kit in my bag, but I can’t remember it at all. Then I tried to figure out how I would deal without for two weeks (I’m not going to Tahoe next weekend) and relax because I know everything in the bag is replicable. Then I get home, and of course, my kit is right in my bag where I put it. I feel like a complete idiot.
My comments are down again. This time I can’t blame the spammers. I made a little adjustment to the site and I, like a the complete idiot that I am, I didn’t test to see if it worked. I’ll have it fixed and up and running before lunch so you can leave me your pearls of wisdom. In the meantime, if you want to comment, you can fire off an email.
Yesterday we took the subway over to Brooklyn to walk back over the Brooklyn Bridge. Great idea.
It was a beautiful day. It was 74 degrees. There were tons of people out, strolling, jogging, riding bikes. The sun was a scarlet fireball as it set behind the Statue of Liberty.
I went to grab my camera to take a shot of the sunset, but it wouldn’t turn on. I looked in the battery case and the damn battery was missing. I left it in the charger, plugged into the wall in Josh’s bathroom. I’ll just have to hold the image in my mind.
Ok, so I wasn’t chewing on foil, but I was licking it and I managed to do something I’ve never done before in my 33 years. I cut my lip of the edge of the foil. And it fucking hurt like hell.
Josh and I were walking down Lexington Avenue on the Upper East Side. We had just sat down at one of the many swanky, insanely overpriced cafes, where I had a bagel. It wasn’t enough. I was really craving bagels for some reason, so we walked to a deli/grocer that had pumpernickel and got one (toasted with cream cheese, in case you were wondering.)
We weren’t in a rush or anything, but I ate as we walked in the direction of the Met. The bagel was so loaded with cream cheese that when I was done, the foil that the bagel came wrapped in was covered in. So, like a good boy, I licked it clean. Except I cut my fucking lip so I’m never going to do that that. Fortunately it didn’t bleed for too long, but it’s really annoying, right near the corner of my upper lip. I’m a complete idiot.
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