"It's not the end of the world that scares me." Kit announced to her therapy group. "I used to worry about that, you know, some cosmic piece of debris hitting the earth and we all blow up."
Mrs. Tuttle attempted to break in, "Well, I've always..."
A withering glance from Kit silenced her and anyone else who thought to express their fears in their little group.
"Then, I moved on to some huge epidemic...what are those called, pandemics or something? I'd be all shriveled up and choking on my own puke. Can you imagine?" Glancing around the faces in the circle around her, she silently dared them to disagree. Not a one picked up the gauntlet.
"Finally, I knew the one thing that scared me the most was to die at home, and have my cats eat my face. Starting with my eyes, because they are tasty even when your body is ready to explode from gasses. Still soft and yummy. Now, every day, I practice falling forward so they can't reach my face should I die, you know, at home." Looking around again, she sought approval for her ingenious plan to thwart the cats future dining pleasure.
Dr. Mason broke in to make the salient points that a)Kit didn't own any cats and that b)she lived in an asylum because c)she was found next to her husbands body, purring with the remains of his chewed upon eyes in her curled hands.
She got the last word, "See?"... her bit of word play making her laugh to herself as she walked back to her room, to practice her falling once again.