Things That Go “Ra-a-a-a-aow!” In the Night
I had just made my umpteenth trip up the stairs for the day and had settled down to watch a little TV. On the screen a car made a sudden turn and (in true Hollywood style) tires squealed for some added dramatic effect. Except this time the “squeal” had a very different sound to it. For at that very instant there came a horrific screech from downstairs. It was a sound like no other yet recognizable by anyone. Cat fight!
The dog and I both tore from the room and down the stairs to find . . . nothing—except for my cat who had fluffed up to about twice her normal size. The dog, meanwhile, had begun sniffing around the sofa so I decided to have a look for myself. Pulling the sofa away from the wall slightly I found myself staring into a white-faced cat calmly sitting there staring back at me. The black-and-white feline, a familiar denizen of the neighborhood, apparently had been trolling the area for some “action” and followed my cat through the pet door into my living room. My cat did not share his enthusiasm and an argument ensued.
While “Sylvester” and I were engaged in this stare-down the phone started ringing in the kitchen. It was at this point that he decided to make a break for it and dashed for the front door, the dog in hot pursuit. (My cat had disappeared upstairs out of the line of fire.) I followed in time to see Sylvester make an unsuccessful vertical leap up the front door. Still on the run I grabbed the phone, telling the caller to hang on a minute while I played animal control officer.
By now, back in my living room, all hell was breaking loose. The cat jumped up on the end table and in a mad scramble knocked the glass lamp onto the tile floor along with a small glass vase with its floral arrangement, now strewn across several tiles. (How both escaped being smashed to bits baffles me.) Thoroughly rattled, the frantic cat raced for the dining room and landed on the buffet. The dog was going nuts while I yelled, “Oh, no!” fearful my tall glass-topped candle holders would be next. Sylvester then scrambled up the tapestry hanging above the buffet and landed on the rod. From there he jumped to the floor, ran to one of the living room windows and clawed his way up the woven wood shade before jumping to the floor again and landing behind a chair. Trying to hold the dog back with one hand I reached for the cat with the other in an attempt to prevent more mayhem.
At this point Sylvester reached out and firmly buried a claw into my hand and hung on. I screamed and pulled back my hand. Sylvester had punctured a vein and blood was now gushing out onto the wall, the chair, the floor, and me. With blood dribbling across the off-white tile floor, I ran to the kitchen where my son Jake was still waiting on the phone. I picked up the receiver and said, “I’ll have to call you back.” “Mom, what’s all that noise? What’s going on?” I told him, “The cat opened a vein in my hand and there’s blood all over the place. Can we schedule that computer thing for tomorrow night?” “Ok-a-ay.” “I’ll call you back. ‘Bye.”
The blood was still gushing and the sink was turning red. I ran some cold water to flush the wound, but while I was flushing the blood was still gushing. I grabbed a paper towel which went from white to red in seconds. By the time I found a real towel the bleeding had nearly stopped. The wound was just an eighth of an inch long. All that blood from that?!!! The back of my hand, however, was getting very swollen and I began to worry about infection. What now? 9:15 p.m. I called a nearby walk-in clinic and was told they could see me if I arrived by ten o’clock. I grabbed my purse and the towel and drove off into the night.
(More to come. Stay tuned for Part II.)
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