Growing up with all brothers, I found the many cat experiments they did to be amusing. You know the ones: cat with tape on the feet, cat wrapped in aluminum foil and cat with cut whiskers. (I said 'amusing'- not 'nice') When you stick tape to a cat's feet, they walk around trying to shake the tape off their paws, creating a 'dancing' effect. When one wraps a cat in foil, their back legs simply stop working and the cat lays down. Cats use their whiskers as balance and judgement. A cat's whiskers are as wide as it's body, so as to know what tight spaces they can fit through, and such. Well, I am sure you can imagine how much fun three evil little boys would have watching a cat run into walls, jumping for a tree branch just to completely miss and getting stuck between the washing machine and the wall.
I am a skinny person stuck inside a very sexy voluptuous body- I've got curves that make Lombard Street green with envy. I am essentially a cat with cut whiskers. I run into things all the time. Bruises populate a body that runs into walls and trips over folds in the rug. I have seen a space and thought, "why, I can fit through that tight space between the washer and the wall- no problem!" Flash forward to Jimmy pulling me out of the laundry room with brute force.
Just yesterday, I had an experience with my short, very attractive whiskers and just tipped over in the middle of the sidewalk. I was standing upright in one moment and laying flat on my back in the next. It was, I am sure, a sight to behold. Luckily, no scrapes or lacerations- I did get one bruise, though- on my thriving and overly exhibited ego.