And they said it’s a dog eat dog world …

Apparently I live in a tough neighborhood. I had no idea. I mean, I knew it was economically depressed and I knew loitering on street corners and stoops was the way the locals spent their evenings. I knew there were young, underemployed pseudothugs roaming the area. I even knew that once upon a time this was a war zone. But, that was long ago and I’m a “‘let-bygones-be-bygones’ is my motto”, fellow, so I was caught unaware.

It was high noon as I walked to the more distant of my three subway options, past the single-family homes and bodegas. The cutest little kitten, white with black markings, poked its head out of a doorway. I looked at it and smiled, tempted to pet it – even I am not entirely immune to the charms of kittens – but, instead, I turned my attention back to the street where it belongs. I attribute my years of wandering in good, bad and neutral areas of this world without incident to the fact that I try to keep my wits about me at all times. This time I strayed for a few seconds and it almost cost me.

I hadn’t taken three steps when my Spidey senses went on four-bells, fully engaged alert. Someone was behind me, moving fast and up to no good. My adrenalin surged. To face the threat, I spun 270 degrees on the ball of my left foot. When I planted my right foot, I dropped my right shoulder and raised my arms in a defensive posture.

The damned kitten was in the air -- paws wide, claws out, teeth exposed, ears back -- right where my right ankle had been. It had blood in its eyes and my flesh in its sights.

I shudder to think where I’d be had my survival instincts failed. … Cat scratch fever, maybe … but it ended well enough. Sure, I left a little of my cool on the sidewalk, but I learned I live in a tough neighborhood.