There are two semi detached houses on my route where both halves get a newspaper. The doors are side by side, flanked by sticking-out garages. Every night I go up one of the driveways and toss the papers, sometimes simultaneously using both hands, sometimes one after the other onto each respective porch. Because the porches are set back, they are in deep shadow. More than half the time, I can hear the distinctive bell from a poor startled cat running off one or other of the porches. I have no idea what this cat actually looks like as I have never seen it and I don't know to which side he belongs though he seems to favour the right hand porch, the one with the wicker chair. On more than one occasion I have heard a loud meeeeoowwwwww and know, instinctively, that I accidentally hit my target. And that Saturday paper can be heavy.
When I visit my clients for a massage treatment (my real career), I bring my table and all the necessary accoutrement with me to the client's house. Makes me rather popular. My table has a nice big coat to protect it. There is a large pocket on the front with another handle to make the whole thing easier to carry. I don't usually use the pocket for much other than tossing in my appointment book and maybe my keys. Cats especially find this bag interesting and worthy of inspection, and sometimes for sleeping on. Many times, I've had to rouse a disgruntled cat in order to pack up. Once, I packed everything up and put the bag into the trunk of my car. I have two sets of keys, but only one set works in the ignition. As I sat down in the driver's seat, I realized the ignition key was in the pocket of the bag in the trunk. I go back out, reach into the bag and my hand touches something very warm and soft. I open the pocket a little further and suddenly a tiny marmalade face with blinking green eyes starts mewling. My client's months old kitten had made herself quite at home and put up with all the churning and tossing about without a sound or attempt at escape.
Today, I return from the computer shop with my hard drive after a failed attempt to recover my RSS feeds (sigh, so many lost blogs). I have also a bag of groceries in one hand, the tower balanced on hip and arms, and my keys in the other hand as I manoeuver my way into the living room. My cat is rolling on the floor in a lazy greeting and suddenly jumps up. I trip over her and manage to catch the falling tower, choosing to drop the groceries instead. I bang into the corner of the wall in order to save my precious cargo as the cat sits resolutely on the floor hunkered down, ready to be stepped on again.