This One Time at Band Camp

This one time at band camp, a very evil feline had it out to get me. I'll start from the beginning.

The first time I met Mr. Whiskers was at the first camp bonfire. At the time, he was insignificant to me, just a spoiled orange tiger cat who belonged to the camp directer, Mr. Howard Reed. I barely registered the fat, ugly thing curled up next to the even fatter, uglier camp directer, just basking in the yellow glow of the fire. I was too busy singing my horrid rendition of Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" with my other campmates, spewing bits of roasted marshmallow all over the place as I did so. Little did I know, Mr. Whiskers was busy plotting my downfall.

It happened as I stumbled back from the bathroom in the morning. I'd showered and brushed my wild crimson curls, which is not an easy process, as they get hopelessly tangled whenever I slumber. To make it all worse, I really had to take a dump, but all the snotty girls from my cabin were there, and the stalls weren't exactly private.

So, anyway, I was walking back amongst the spuces and random green deciduous trees, when I heard a faint meow. I looked up and, clinging for what looked like dear life to an oak branch, was the demonic Mr. Whiskers. Even in my bad mood, I was ever the kind soul, and I decided to shimmy up the tree to help the poor little guy. I was a good tree climber, due to the tomboyish experiences of a girl in a family with many brothers, and thought it could be my good deed of the day.

Once I got up to the branch where Mr. Whiskers was clung, I reached over to pet him and settle him down because he seemed scared out of his kitty mind. But at that moment, he pawed at me and I lost my balance, falling out of the tree and onto the hard and unforgiving earth.

I remember hearing gasps and the feel of arms carrying me, but I didn't really open my eyes until I was in the infermery. The infermery was cramped and undersupplied, since band camp isn't a hot spot for injuries. A guy with a bulbous mustache looked down his nose at me as I came to. "You should be ashamed of yourself. There is a strict policy for not climbing trees. Your parents are on their way. We don't need a lawsuit on our hands."

I was confused, and I looked down. My arm was in an ugly sling and a few fingers were buddy-taped together. I sighed. I'm notorious for my bad luck. I was injured and getting kicked out of band camp because of a good deed.

One time at band camp, I learned that I'm a dog person.