Kill A Cat Today!

Kill A Cat Today!

07.26.05 (3:32 pm)   [edit]
I had Katie for two days this past weekend. We're trying to do this once a month now. One day on the weekends when I'm gigging, two days hopefully once a month.

The weekends have been the only time I haven't felt like utter shit since coming here. Either playing with one of the bands or being with my daughter. Those are the only things that keep me going. Maybe I get an hour or so of something else every couple days. A good book, an album I can actually latch onto for a while. Not often, though. Dealing with a shitty employer who switches jobs on me every couple days and hasn't had me working a five day week yet in two months - thereby leaving me on the very edge of being able to not go further in debt than I already am - plus the general strain of being newly divorced and wondering why the hell I moved 2 hours from my little girl...being with her is really the only thing that CAN make me happy right now.

I picked her up Saturday morning and brought her back here to Indy. We had lunch and watched a bit of a DVD. Then we took off for Marion. Katie was so much fun the whole way. Sometimes she'd ask if we were there yet or how much longer it would be, but then she'd go right back into singing to herself or just being silly. We laughed a lot.

We got to my parents' house and spent an hour there. I got laundry going and did a bit on the computer while Mom and my sister Jo played with Katie. We got to see the cats. Their white cat (the one that spent so much time in the shower stall becuase my mother is a lunatic) had two kittens a few weeks ago, and one of them lived. Katie had seen the kitten the last time we were there. Cute little orange guy, and he's just learning to walk. I love cats. I really do. but keep reading.

We then took off for my grandma's house. Katie LOVES going to her great-grandmother's house, and frankly, it's a better place for her to be than my mother's. Mom hasn't quite figured out how to child-proof a house. Grandma not only has it down, she has a separate room for all her grandkids to play in with plenty of toys, and there's just a great vibe there for all the kids who come to visit. As nuts as my grandma is sometimes (and she is) there's never been any doubt about who wanted to give us kids the most space to play in when I was growing up. I think she's doing that very well still.

Katie's cousin Arthur came over to play. He's a month or so older than her. My aunt is ten years older than me (from Grandma's second marriage. My aunt's father was killed in a car/train collision two months before she was born) so my two cousins from her are much younger than me. More fun for Katie! Arthur and her get along GREAT, and the last time we were there, Katie had the saddest little face when it was time to leave. She would have stayed there two more days if she could have.

My uncle came over. My aunt (his third wife - seeng a pattern here?) brought along her granddaughter. More fun for Katie and Arthur!

Eventually, everyone had to go. Katie did better with it this time. We were going back to Mom and Dad's for pizza, we'd play a couple hours, then come back to Indy. We'd spend Sunday just hanging out here, nothing too big. Just Daddy/Katie time.

Didn't QUITE happen that way.

After dinner, just before I was getting ready for us to leave, Katie ran across the kitchen. She slipped on a rug that she's slipped on before. Long rug on a slippery wood floor. Sheryl has fallen on this too. Mom heard about it later. And heard about it again. Once more. She won't have to hear it again, because we aren't going back there until she replaces the fucking rug.

Katie came down hard. That alone scared the fuck out of me, but the next thing I knew, there was a flash of white fur across the room and Katie started screaming.

I've never seen a cat do this. The only explanation I can give why a normally pleasant and playful cat would attack my daughter is that it thought SHE was doing something to hurt its baby.

Unfortunately: 1.) The kitten was nowhere NEAR Katie at the time, and 2.) You're hurting MY baby now, motherfucker. Your furry ass is MINE.

Dad was maybe two seconds behind me. I took care of the cat (ever see a cat fly twenty feet into a table?) and Dad took care of Katie. There's a little more to the Dad/me story at this point, but I'll save it for later.

We cleaned Katie off with a wet towel as best as we could and took her to the hospital. Mom went with us and sat in the back with Katie to comfort her. Mom is pretty much incapable of comforting me about anything anymore, as much as she tries, but she was wonderful to have there for Katie. I don't think it would have gone as smooth as it did without her.

A lot of shit was going through my mind as I drove her off. Why did that cat go batshit like that? Is Katie going to be infected with something? How am I going to explain this to Sheryl? Why the FUCK did I move so far way and how can I help her at the times I'm not there when shit like this happens? Is she going to be scared of cats now? Of all the things that can happen to an active, constantly playful four-year old, why THIS shit?

I called Sheryl on the way to the hospital. She was in West Virginia visiting family and friends. I had to call back later from the hospital, because, of course, I was in MARION, and the reception on the cell phone was shit.

We waited just a bit longer than I thought was reasonable, which is to say it was still better than any other time I've been in the emergency room at Marion General, which is pretty much known for being an understaffed backwoods sinkhole. Once several years ago, my Dad woke us up at 4AM. He could barely breathe. We told him we'd take him to the hospital. He made it clear that we were driving him an hour to Bluffton - inspite of how he could barely WALK - because he'd use what little air he had left to strangle us if we took him to Marion General Hospital. I was born there, by the way.

After twenty minutes, I had to explain to the guy at the desk in my most courteous and friendly voice (ho ho) that I had a child with cuts all over her head, face, and arms crying in the waiting room and would you please HURRY UP. Believe it or not, it worked. We were back there in less than five minutes.

Katie was so strong. The nurse cleaned her up, and sometimes it stung, but Katie knows that doctors are there to help. We've had that talk before. She did very well, even though she obviously wanted to be anywhere else. They gave her a little orange thing to wear, and turned on the TV for her.

The TV was the true beginning of the healing process. Ahhh, my little addicted child...

There was talk of doing an x-ray on her elbow. She didn't want to bend it back straight, and we weren't sure if it was because there were so many cuts there, or if she'd hurt it when she fell. By the way, two weeks ago she'd hurt the same elbow at her other grandparent's house. The doctor checked her over and said it was fine, obviously not broken. Whew. The next morning she straightened it out for me and was obviously fine, though the several cuts there are particularly noticeable.

Cuts on both side of her face. A small cut on her neck. Right above one ear. Several on the top of her head. One cut on her face starts right next to an eye. I sat there on the floor next to her bed and looked up at all this, and felt sadness. Just sadness. Anger was gone. I'd already dealt with the cat. I'd chased the rat bastard into the garage before we left. Yanked the fuck out of her tail, and hit her in the face with the first thing I picked up - one of those tubes of caulking material Dad had on the floor. It's a good thing for the cat that she was faster than me, because she'd be little chunks in a pot of cat stew right now otherwise.

She'd got me too - two cuts on my right hand and a single puncture on my index finger. When I came back out into the waiting room, a woman saw my hand and said "Oh God! What happened to you?" I was a bit baffled by the reaction. "Go look at my daughter. I got off light."

Looking up at my daughter sitting on the edge of a hospital bed watching cartoons, I was shocked by the look on her face. She was calm. She was at least for this moment at peace. And she looked OLDER. She wasn't 4 anymore. She was 12. Or 20. Or 58.

For some reason, I thought about my 96-year old grandmother, who was only three months old when she lost her mother in a house fire. I haven't seen pictures, but aparantly my great-grandfather had serious burns all over him from going back in the house to save his children and try to save his wife.

Wow. As horrible and as trying an experience as this was, we were lucky. The cuts were all shallow, she's on an antibiotic to fight any alien germs, and she even laughed a little at the TV sitting there on the bed. And no one had to die. Except that fucking cat if I ever see it again.

She hadn't napped all day, and fell asleep in her room. We had to wake her up to take medicine, then wait 20 minutes for MORE medicine while she sat there nodding off. Finally we left. She fell asleep quickly. We went back to the house, got our stuff while Katie slept in the car, and I drove her back here. She woke up just long enough to be put into bed, and she ended up sleeping ten and a half hours.

Me, I took two sleeping pills and slept maybe 3 hours in little bits and pieces.

I think she's stronger than me already. I did my damndest to hold it together and be strong for her, and I pulled it off, but I sure didn't feel it. I mostly felt helpless. My little girl. The only person in the world who truly makes me happy. Injured and scared in a hospital room.

Yet it wasn't long after the nurse had cleaned her up that Katie said, "You know, Daddy. Hospitals are kinda cool." When we left I asked her if she'd learned anything and she said "Doctors are friends to children everywhere, because they help us feel better." Well, how about that. I think she got through it better than me, and I wasn't the one who got fucked up by a cat. I'm not sure what this says, but it does bug me.

Sunday morning we spent half an hour talking before we got up. She slept in her sleeping bag on the floor next to me. She loves that. I got down next to her and we talked about animals and what it means to trust an animal but still be careful. We talked about how accidents happen to young children but that something like this shouldn't happen to anyone. But it did. We talked about when Daddy was trying to get her out of the house to the hopsital and he and Grandpa were mad at each other. That was the part that was really stupid. At a time when I should have been thinking about NOTHING but Katie, Dad had pulled out his shit again and apparantly thought HE knew how to deal with the situation and *I* didn't. Once again, making me feel lesser than him. Why now? Why NOW?? Can we talk about gay marriage while terrorists are bombing our cities a little too, please? Katie's been hurt. Leave this bullshit alone and let me handle this. I'm her FATHER, you fucking idiot. And yes, I called him that. And no, I feel no guilt about it except that Katie had to hear all this at a time when it should have been about NOTHING but taking care of her. Manipulative, controlling shithead.

So, unfortunately, I had to try to find a way of explaining THAT to Katie the next morning. And explain to her that he really was trying to help. I think she knew that part, but I figured she should know that *I* knew. Shit, he was there right behind me and was the first one to pick her up. I never doubted HIS ability to help her. Don't question MINE.

But enough of that shit.

The rest of Sunday we played here in the apartment and watched TV. My back was killing me for some reason (probably the same reason I shit blood, have migranes, and crave booze 24/7), and it was hotter than hell outside (we did walk to the CVS just down the road to get her antibiotic) so no outdoors playtime, unfortunately. Hopefully we can do that Saturday when I see her again. I've got a gig that night down in Cincy, so we'll hang out for the day before I go off to make noise.

We watched one of her tapes, then I showed her some video of me with a couple bands back before she was born. She pointed at the screen and yelled "That's you!" whenever I came on and seemed bored by the rest. I saw myself on screen and thought, "Wow, I really did steal Neil Young's hulking-about-the-stage-o n-one-leg moves, didn't I?" Seriously, I never knew that until someone pointed it out. Katie thought I looked funny when we were playing Louie Louie and I was doing my one-note guitar solo. I thought I looked retarded. But I'll take her word for it.

Then we watched a bunch of MST3K. Two whole movies, part of a third. I couldn't believe she was that into it. "I like the guy with the two robots, Daddy. They're funny!" She'd laugh her tiny little butt off when Tom Servo would start singing. She'd laugh at jokes she couldn't possibly get. (Guy on screen: "They're a cult." Crow: "They worship blue oysters.") And when I started laughing my balls off at something, Katie would look at me like I was out of my mind, which made me laugh harder. (Best example: Gorgo, an English version of Godzilla. They're at sea and there's a massive storm and water is everywherre and boats are sinking and Crow is telling the other guys that his heart will go on, and then POOF. It immediately cuts to a beautiful calm day with the boat docked. "Oh, they're OK now." Then, to the tune of The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald, Crow sings "Well, they got back to port, and everyone was OK. They went out to lunch and felt betterrrrr!" I didn't even TRY explaining that one to Katie. I was too busy laughing.)

We packed up to go back to Cincy. She slept the whole way. We had dinner at Wendy's (no fingers were found) and went back to Mommy's. They were very happy to see each other.

Before we left here, we had another talk. The last few times I've seen her, it's been a little harder for her to leave each time. She was very sad as we packed her things, and she told me she would miss me very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very much. You know how that can get to you, when a kid is being sad and really funny at the same time? God, it was tearing my guts out. "I wish I was with you two million mornings, Daddy." We both had some tears then. "I wish you could stay at the house with me and Mommy and we could all be happy." I had nothing useful to say to that. It just hurt.

When I pull out of their driveway (it took a while to stop thinking of it as "ours") each week, I spend an hour and forty-five minutes driving and fighting the urge to stuff my head in a vat of bourbon. I succeed. Then I have to do it again all week. All I really want out of my life right now is to make enough money playing and teaching music to pay my bills and finance two trips a week to Cincy to see my daughter. And for those trips to feel like this one did. Even with all the shit that happened, in fact BECAUSE of that shit, I've never felt closer to my little girl than I did this weekend. and it's never hurt so much to say goodbye.

I love you, Katie. I wish I was with you two million mornings.

Daddy