I almost had a heart attack last night. I think anyone would have likely had some palpitations under the circumstances. It was brought on, of course, by my shithead and extremely lucky Samoan cat, Makelani.

I've documented Mak's inferior intellect multiple times on this site. Earlier in the evening, in a typical Mak event, he stuck his head in the handle of a brown paper bag and since he couldn't figure out how to extricate himself, he just dragged the bag around the apartment as if nothing was wrong.

Around 7:30 or so, I let the cats out on the balcony for their evening perambulation. I watered the little basil that I bought, and stood on the left end of the railing to prevent Fil, my female cat, from jumping onto the roof and escaping, which she has done several times.

When it came time to herd the cats back into the apartment, I grabbed Fil first because she's the troublemaker. I put her inside and as I shut the door and turned to get Mak, I could him see crouching down, going into the butt-wiggle, I'm about to the leap on the roof and there's nothing you can do to stop me, mutherfucka. Everything that followed sort of happened in slow motion.

I usually leave Mak out on the railing and put Fil inside first because while not having two brain cells to keep each other warm, Mak has always been on the cautious side. Some would say chickenshit, but I give him the benefit of the doubt and say cautious. But something snapped in his little brain. For a second, Mak thought he could fly. He forgot about three things. First, he's a nine pound cat and not a hummingbird. Second, the Theory of Gravity. Third, and most important, the little balcony railing that he was on is 35 feet above the ground.

As I stood there in the doorway, I saw Mak jump up to the sloping roof, desperately try to hang on the ledge, fail and disappear from sight, falling at roughly 9.8 meters per second per second. HOLY FUCKING SHIT!! MY CAT JUST FELL THREE STORIES TO THE GROUND!!

I ran to the balcony and looked down. Mak was down there, walking around and mewing like a crazed beast. I ran out the door, down the stairs and outside where I found a freaked out Mak, tail poofed out about three times normal size, covered in mud and looking for a way to get back in the building.

I swooped him up and whisked him upstairs, all the while trying to calm him down, to no avail. Other than being slathered in mud, he didn't seem to have any major damage. I was shocked.

Back inside I put him on the floor and watched him walk around. He was walking with a pronounced limp, favoring his hind right leg. I tired to pick him back him. He wasn't happy. I prodded him and pushed him to look for sore or broken spots. He was tender for sure. He didn't want me touching his hid leg. He was sore under his forearms. But didn't seem broken. He's a fucking tough cat. Coming from Samoa, the land of people impervious to pain, that's not hard to believe. (Twice when I was in was living in the village, I had a host brother who broke a foot, had it reset by a masseuse and was walking around on it the next day as if nothing had happened).

Everything seemed fine, but I wanted to take him to the vet just to be sure. But it was late now, after 8 o'clock and all the vet offices in Alameda were closed. I could take him to the emergency hospital in San Leandro, but it's ten miles away, and Mak doesn't travel all that well so with the all the trauma that he'd suffered already, I didn't want to have to pile it on if I didn't have to.

I gave Makkie a sponge bath and cleaned him up a little and went off to a dark corner of the house to lick his wounds. He was eating. That was a good sign. I could hear go in and out of the litter box twice. That was positive too. He could leap from the ground to the couch and from there to the condo. Everything seemed good.

Then he came to sit in map, like normal, except, he wasn't normal. He was shaking ever so slightly, more than his normal high octane purr. I got worried. I thought, fuck, if something is really wrong with him and I didn't have him looked at by a professional when I had the chance, I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

So, I grabbed him, took him downstairs and into the car. He started freaking immediately, as he normally does anytime he gets anywhere near my car. I gave him some treats which calmed him down, but he kept a low grade caterwaul all the way to the Bay Area Veterinary Specialists.

Inside Mak was calm, which was surprised. I borrowed a pet taxi to keep him from running around or coming into contact with a dog, so nothing bad happened. I was asked into the exam room. A tech came in asked me a bunch of questions about what happened, and gave him a cursory check, including an anal temperature reading that might have been more traumatic than the fall. I know if someone scruffed me by the neck and jammed a rod up my ass, I wouldn't have been in a cooperative mood.

The doc came in, felt Makkie up, watching him walk around and declared that nothing was broken. There was a possibility of internal damage, but since he was eating and using the litter box, it was unlikely. He was probably just sore and in pain and prescribed a liquid pain killer to ease his suffering and help him heal.

I was so relieved. Nothing major wrong. Almost even better, no overnight stay, no x-rays, no bandages. I got away with a $110 bill, happily paid and went home, a sedate Makkie in the back making no one peep.

Mak has to be one of the luckiest cats in the world. First he was saved from a life of torture at the hands of village idiot kids in a remote part of Samoa by some soft hearted human. Now he survived a 35 foot fall without a scratch, only some residual soreness and damaged pride.

Needless to say, balcony privileges have been permanently revoked and it's time for me to find a more suitable place for me and the cats to reside.