 They say it takes two days before your cats will eat your body if you die. Well, I can tell you that it's longer than that, but not by much. I have five cats, yes, five. My fiance and I started with one, then graduated to three after a friend started having allergic reactions and had to give his two up. Then the same happened a few years later with one of her friends. Now we're at five. There's too many cats in my opinion, but what can I do at this point? They're here to stay and I love them unconditionally. A while ago now, my fiance left for a trip to Thailand. She's into Muay Thai and so is her brother, so he invited her to go with him on a training trip his gym was taking. This left me home alone for a while, which as an introvert as well as a professional writer who was currently in the midst of his second novel was not unwelcome. I was looking forward to some valuable alone time in a distraction free environment in which to make some progress on my writing. Three days into her trip, I'd been doing just that. Around 4pm, I finished my third chapter in as many days. I was thrilled, but needed a change of pace as my mind was beginning to give off sparks. One of the lights in the high ceiling of our living room had gone out, so I figured I'd take this time to replace it. I went into the garage and got the ladder, then set it up under the light. I stood on the second from top step, looking up. Even though I'm tall, I could still barely reach the light. I went up to the next rung knowing full well it wasn't safe. I could reach it now, but it was still at an awkward distance. I thought about it for a second time, then decided to just go for it. I didn't want to have to find another ladder or call an electrician, plus I'm pretty sure footed, so I stepped up onto the top of the ladder. I could comfortably reach the light now. The bulb was a pretty standard screw-in type that could easily be changed out, except that there was a thin metal rim that went about halfway around the circumference of the fixture and blocked the bulb from coming out. Try as I might, I could not figure out how to get the bulb around it or get it off. I finally resorted to brute force and gave it a good yank. Nothing happened. I yanked it harder, still nothing. I gave it one more firm pull and it came off. Unfortunately, so did my feet from the ladder. I came to lying on my back, staring up at the broken fixture. I couldn't move. I could tell I was breathing, an adult aching in my back that seemed many miles away told me that I still had some life in my nerves, but otherwise, nothing. Panic didn't last long, as there wasn't anything I could do. Since I was conscious and could feel a bit, I figured it would pass. I resolved myself to wait it out and began focusing on my breathing, not only as a meditative practice, but to help regain control of myself too. As time passed, I could sense faint nudges around my feet, hands and head, now and then a shock of fur would pass before my eyes. Once my breathing became more difficult and far off somewhere I could feel four little pause on my chest. They were hungry, but there was nothing I could do. They'd have to wait it out, just like me. Darkness fell, and then the light returned. My situation hadn't improved. More and more I felt the little nudges or the poke of a paw on my face. I kept focusing on my breathing. If I was making progress with it, I couldn't tell, but for the time being, it was keeping me sane. One night fell, and again dawn broke with no improvement. The nudges and pokes were getting more frequent and far more desperate. I could feel a gnawing sensation in my own stomach and my lips were beginning to feel dry and cracked. Sometime during the third night is when I felt the teeth. Even that far away sensation almost as if it were happening to someone else. Even so, the feeling was unmistakable, like two steel rods sinking into the flesh of my calf, then a tug, then a rip. I tried with all my might to make myself scream. Nothing. I felt the teeth again, another pull, another rip, a wet chewing sound. I waited for my lungs to fill with air and then focused all my energy into forcing it out. A low-strained groan escaped my lips, but it was enough. The teeth stopped, and I felt the faint vibrations of little footsteps going away. I woke up later in the night to what felt like a small piece of sandpaper rubbing against my leg. Someone was licking up the blood around the wound. Again, I groaned. The licking stopped for a moment, and then began once more. I tried to kick out with my leg and managed a small twitch. I heard paws run off again. It was starting to feel like a small fire was smoldering in my leg, just embers for now, but it wasn't good. How long had they been at it while I was asleep? How much longer could I hold them off? What was left of my leg? How much longer could I last like this? This same cycle continued for days. First, the feel of teeth in the flesh of my leg, arm, or sometimes, my face. Next, a twitch or a groan to shake them off. Sometimes more than one set of teeth at a time, sometimes they wouldn't leave. I could feel the wetness of blood on parts of me. I could feel the small embers of pain and infection all over. My stomach felt like it was filled with nails. My mouth was like hot sand. I was growing weak. With what was now left of my sanity, I tried to count the days I'd been lying there. She must have been close to returning home. It must have been long enough that someone knows something's wrong. I had to be close to the end. It was hard to tell, though, with a sensation of five little sets of teeth all tearing at five different parts of me. Concentration was in short supply. I wanted to shake them off, but I was so tired. All I wanted was to rest. I forgot about my breathing. My eyes began to go black. My thoughts began to fade, far off somewhere. I heard the rumble of a car engine. I heard the jagged metal grinding of a key in a lock. I heard hinges creak. I heard footsteps. I heard screaming.