My girlfriend’s mother had given me a cluster of three balloons when all met for my birthday dinner. One of the trio was helium filled and the other two standard issue. There was also a sturdy plastic clip tied to the streamers which was used to keep the cluster from floating away. When returning home that evening I let clip rest on foyer floor and went upstairs

The next morning, when feeding my black cat, he eyed the assembly of floating foil and didn’t care for it in the least—to him its motions seemed malevolent.  Day upon day passed and he gave the marauding band of balloons a wide berth, though he appeared to be letting down his guard.

A few days later, I was in the kitchen cleaning when I heard a terrific commotion followed by black cat racing across the room in an obvious state of distress looking for any form of cover he could find.

“What the hell is going on, “I exclaimed, but heard no response. He probably didn’t want meow to give away his hide out. When I walked to living room to take stock of the situation, I found my birthday balloons upstairs next to my eternal Christmas tree. Given the lion’s share of helium had escaped by this time and could no longer provide sufficient lift to help them rise to second floor, there was but one conclusion. Somehow black cat got tangled in clip and ribbon, panicked, and dragged the monstrosity along. This was his nightmare come to life and it apparently didn’t let loose until he was fully upstairs. When I put two and two together, I laughed off and on for the next thirty minutes which I’m sure displeased him as he thought he very nearly paid visit to St. Peter.