How Darwin pushed me off my bike (and nearly killed me)

Cats are stupid. They’re hairy, smelly, stupid little idiots. Are you a cat lover? Well I’m really sorry* but one of your beloved whiskered brethren made the most spectacularly misjudged decision since that Vietnamese orphanage hired Gary Glitter as birthday entertainer. Let me divulge … Like most Sundays I was in a blissful state, riding downhill while enjoying the gentle scent of country air as it graced both my cheeks. Pedalling though country lanes on the outskirts of suburbia, the only sounds to punctuate my reverie were the occasional car and the caustic scratch of my Lycra clad thighs slowly turning me on as I approached Wetherby. Little did I know that this pleasant afternoon’s cycle would soon transform into a messy amalgamation of metal and flesh and a cross-species infusion not seen since Jeff Goldblum started dicking around with flies back in the 80s. Rounding a large sweeping bend right to left I began to pick up speed, drifting down a gentle hill I leant forward on the drop bars, arse was pointed upwards – winking at the sky like cabaret at one of Boy George’s butt parties. It was now that a grey ball of fur appeared in my peripheral vision on the opposite side of the road. Moreover, that grey ball of fur was now heading directly for me, like some kind of feline catastrophe magnet. I reached for the brakes just in time for the thought “you stupid little f*cker” to flash into my mind. But it was too late, in a split-second the cat had engaged in bloody matrimony with my front wheel and pedals before a short vacation south beneath the rear wheel. I lost control of the steering and balance soon followed, tipping me sideways onto my right shoulder. I recall watching my beautiful bike topple over me, disconnect and bounce down the road ahead of me while my torso span, crunched and glided across the worst ice rink imaginable – that is without any ice, only skin and tarmac. Coming to an abrupt thunderous halt, I was now laid next to a pavement wondering which motorist would have the pleasure of finishing the job off. My hips felt like I’d been back-scuttled by a boatload of sailors and there was a burning sensation in various parts of my arms and back. As luck would have it I wasn’t killed by a car – because that would make for a rubbish blog post and presumably some sort of weird Facebook tribute page recounting what a nice person I was. Well I am, but I’ve bummed people and as of yesterday – I’m now a cat murderer. Two concerned motorists stopped the traffic...