Hurricane: Cat Narc

My first wife was a red head from Louisiana. We actually got along pretty good and it's a sad sordid tale how we come unraveled. However, we don't do sad, sordid tales here, unless I want to and today I don't. I just wanted to mention two of my favorite places (red heads and Louisiana) and to introduce a character for this little story.

My wife was at work at her machine shop job in Stafford, VA. I was at home alone. Me, home and alone all in a sentence...you know there's trouble brewing. Oh yeah, and I was fixing to do some chain sawing.

I lived smack dab in the middle of a five acre wooded lot in Ninde, VA. The nearest neighbor behind me had 300+ wooded acres, so woods went pretty deep behind me. All the lots around me were 5 acres and wooded, most people had bought more than one, and only one person had cleared any trees other than for the house. So to drive in our "development" meant seeing a lot of trees and few houses. I liked it like that and used to go to the wood pile to get logs for the woodstove...naked. Once I forgot I had told a guy he could put a tree stand in my yard to bow hunt a deer or two and went on my daily naked wood gathering jaunt. But that is another really funny story for another really distant time.

And I had a Shih Tzu, which is mentally crippled creature kinda like a dog. A Lab-Huskie mix. And a couple of cats, Little Bit and Hurricane (guess which one the wife named and which one I named. Go on, guess).

So I was knocking back some brush and small trees out back, using my chain saw and definately feeling like the master of my domain. 'Cause if you live abutted to woods you know already, you're always trying to keep the woods in the woods and out of your yard.

So I got to this one young tree. Pretty good looking for his age. So I decided he should live and sire many strong, good looking saplings. A stud tree, if you will. But he had a branch or two that was a bit too low hanging for me and therefore a mite troubling.

I latched upon one of the troubling, low hanging branches with one hand, and with the other hand kinda raised that roaring saw back and up over my shoulder.

Now to this point, and "to this point" is a very key phrase, I had been serious careful with this saw because I was respectful of it. Two hands, thumbs curled, sready stance, etc. And as I rasied that saw up I was thinking to myself, "That branch is small and springy. That blade is gonna hit and bounce up on me". I thought it, but...

I brought that saw down on that small springy branch, causing the saw to, just as I had predicted, bounce immediately off and bite my branch holding hand. I remember thinking, "Wow, musta just nicked me because I don't feel nothin'."

Then I looked at it. Stupid move. I saw finger bone. Head got light and woozy (I'm a light weight wimp upon seeing blood or guts, or apparently, bone). I nearly fainted, but one brain cell informed me that I didn't want to die alone on the edge of the woods. No other brain cells were operating as they were frozen in horror, so I couldn't contemplate properly if a finger wound can actually kill you.

I wandered in the house holding my sawed up finger in a death grip, theoretically to stem the blood flow. I looked right at my band-aids, didn't see them, and began going to neighbor's houses in search of a band-aid and a kind soul.

First of all, when you live in a place with such big lots, it takes a long time to go from house to house. Then most everybody was at work. Eventually I found a lady home, she was by trade a nurse, and she put a butterfly bandage on my wound. All of a sudden the wound didn't look serious at all. My scheme gene kicked in.

Why does the wife have to know this at all? It would only upset her and I'm much too caring a husband to want to upset her after she's worked hard all day. And over nothing, really.

I went home, stowed the saw, stacked the debris and came in and wiped up the blood. Then I sat in my La-Z-Boy and watched TV, waiting for the wife to come home. She did, we exchanged pleasantries and went on about our normal bidness.

Then Hurricane, the narc cat, goes over to the kitchen floor, puts his nose to the tile and commences to do this freakin' cat wail that was quite difficult to ignore. And while I succeeded in ignoring it, the wife did not. She walked over to investigate.

A second later I hear, "Ed...is this blood?" (The cat had found TWO DROPS of blood on the floor and sold me down the river. My own boy cat!!) (Uh-oh. Well, just stay calm.) "Yes ma'am, it probably is". (She don't know anything. Maybe she'll let it drop. Oh crap, she's headed this way.)
"What happened?"
"Oh, just cut myself." (That's true enough and the wound looks pretty minor now.)
"How?" (Uh-oh, now what? Lie or truth?)
"On a saw." (There. That sounded nonchalant enough. Now go away woman.)
"The power saw?" (Dang! Why did I marry Joe Friday? Oh yeah, the red hair and big boobs. Well, curses.)
"Yes, ma'am" (The defeat sounded in my voice.)

She lectured me, and finger wagged me and even asked if she had to take it away from me as if I were five years old. And none of this would have happened if that cat coulda kept his yap shut.

I can show you the scar. It's not only very easy to see, it's also pretty unimpressive. But I'll gladly show it to you should you ask.

Oh, guess what? Dad loaned me a chain saw yesterday. So I could clear some brush around here. Bet he's having second thoughts now. I know I'm having second thoughts about posting the sexy nurse painting yesterday, since it would have fit perfectly today.

I love Louisiana but no longer intend to disappear there. But if I do, check the flop houses near The Quarter.

I made a new friend yesterday. Bitten Marianne. I choose to use her full name rather than just the customary initials. In this case I think it's a good idea.

Went to see War of the Worlds. It ends kinda suddenly. And by the way, how does Tom Cruise still look so young?

Life is good. Out.
Ramblin' Ed