This is a long weekend for me. I’m temporarily in Alabama for a 5-week class where I happen to run into a few friends from around the Air Force, and one of my roommates from college. Being Monday’s a federal holiday here, I ask one of my Minot buds if he wants to hang at my home in Georgia for the weekend. So, yesterday, we get to my place and my girlfriend cooks a great big dinner for the three of us. I light a fire in the chimnea, crack a few beers, and settle in for a relaxing weekend. Good times indeed!
This morning, we all get up and I go out to the back deck to cook omelets for everyone. Girlfriend has two cats—both indoor cats. One wants to meander curiously outside, and poke around a bit, being she’s in a new neighborhood and such. I’m cooking omelets, and she’s on the deck. I finish cooking, she comes inside.
After brunch, at about 10:30, I sit down here to surf the Dope for a bit, when I hear this helluva commotion. I hop up and step into the hallway when the girlfriend screams, “Trip, ‘Jimbo’* shot Pipsqueak!!”
Not knowing what she’s talking about or where the cat is, I get out to the back deck where my neighbor is standing out on the back deck. I don’t immediately see any gun, but I ask, “What the fuck happened?” “I didn’t know your girlfriend let her cats out of the house. I saw the cat in my backyard by the bird feeder, and shot it in the butt. I only gave it four pumps though, Trip. . .” He thought Pipsqueak, who had never been outside more than 10 minutes, was going to attack a bird feeder in his back yard.
Knowing what to do, I just shut my yap and walk back inside. I’m in ‘Damage Control Mode’ now. I find my gal cradling the cat in the bathroom and everything is fine at first. Pipsqueak is caterwauling in pain. Girlfriend and I are thinking she got zapped real bad but everything ought to be okay. . .
. . . until girlfriend pulls her hand back and we see blood.
That’s when my girlfriend breaks down into shock. I’ve seen this before and I realize this is gonna be a bad day: I have two victims, the cat, and my girlfriend. Immediately I’m on the phone to various veterinary clinics (on a Sunday, mind you) and find one up in Macon that is open for emergencies but only after 1:PM. As I’m calling around, I’m leaving messages to Vets asking them to call me back for a wounded cat. After a few more phone calls, one calls me back and agrees to meet me. After I get off the phone with him, I call the non-emergency number to the Police, and let ‘em know what’s going on. As GF and I are pulling down the street, we see them, flag them down and give initial statements. I tell them that my buddy is still at the house and they proceed on to my place and the neighbors.
We get to the vet’s. Fortunately, Pipsqueak is alive and will be fine. What I originally thought was just a glancing zap was wrong: she’s got the BB lodged in the muscle in her rear right hip, and as the doc explained, digging it out (like they would do with humans) would most likely do her more harm than good. He X-rayed her and sure enough, there it is, just fractions of an inch from her abdominal wall, but away from bones or anything dangerous. She’s wearing it now, and will for the rest of her life.
The kind doc gives us antibiotics for her and some painkillers, as well as a clean bill ‘o’ health. We head home, and let her go in the house. Last I checked the one victim is doing fine and sheltered in the closet avoiding noise and people—rightfully so. My ‘other victim’ is taking a nap right now, since she’s just tired and emotionally spent. I’ll be grilling dinner for us tonight, and wearing my flak jacket and helmet as I do so (well, not really. The girlfriend doesn’t want me to, and I can understand.) Currently and obviously, we’re not on speaking terms with ‘Jimbo’, and I’m sure his wife is just mortified. We’ll politely let this go for a few days and let them come to apologize. When that happens (I am sure it will), we’ll give them the vet bill and ask them to cover it.
More to follow, but I must say that as a responsible gun owner, he fucked up. I fail to see the threat of a fourteen pound domesticated cat to a 60-year old man standing high over the backyard on a deck 50 feet away. Fucking dumbass.
Construction on the New Iron Curtain begins in the morning, and donations will be accepted through your local TripCo Inc. field office. Those donating $10 or more will have their name etched on a cinder block for the foundation of the barbed wire fence. Those donating $100 or more in the next week will have their name worn on the back of sentries guarding the border.
Note: * Names changed temporarily. Also, Jimbo is retired Navy, and ought to know better anyway. This is the same guy that has been intruding on certain personal spaces: the very reason I got so good at hanging blinds in five minutes. Dead and Lichen It is still on, and we’re planning for some time in March.
Tripler
Checkpoint Charlie indeed.