Melvin tried to ignore the ghosts that hovered over his head. They each held an ethereal satchel, out of which they pulled a seemingly endless number of meowing, puking black cats and dropped them on him.
Melvin knew it was Friday the 13th. He grumbled to himself but tried to go about his business. He ignored the raining cats while he shaved, he ignored them while he walked to work. He ignored them while he sipped his coffee, and did his best to protect his croissant from the hail of cats.
Considering his luck already as bad as it could get, Melvin dropped his guard and walked beneath a ladder on his way to lunch. The fall of relatively soft, fuzzy cats was replaced with a hard, metal paint can colliding with his head. He went to the emergency room and cursed his luck that he'd walked beneath the ladder of his new wife's ex-husband, a painter by trade.
Melvin had to stay overnight for observation, during which he played with the cats.
The Moral: croissant umbrellas are going to be huge.