My morning started with a banana and a three-mile run at the low end of my pre-injury pace. This was made easier by the fact that I have finally kicked the flu’s ass and sent it howling. Which meant I could breathe, always a plus.
Then it was time to wash the dried blood out of my hair. Now, starting a Monday morning with dry claret spattering one is de rigeur for my characters, not so much for me (anymore), so this may require a little explanation.
This came about because I’m tall.
Well, not precisely tall. I am a respectable 5’6”, though I look MUCH bigger when I’m angry or determined. (This is, incidentally, partly why it’s so difficult to buy clothes for me. Or maybe my mouth just makes me seem a lot bigger on a daily basis. Your choice.) This is, however, multiple feet taller than any of the animals in the house. I forgot, while supervising a visit between Miss B and the Tuxedo Kitty* (sounds like an indie band, doesn’t it) that I would be the tallest thing around, and hence the safest route of escape for said feline.
Now, Tuxedo Kitty is sweet-stupid, and normally very calm. I am unsure why he’s not adjusting to the new addition as well as Cranky Quacker, our oldest cat. (He doesn’t miaou. He quacks. Seriously.) CQ has found out that if he hisses, Miss B takes notice and backs off. (Her former home had children and cats, I checked before adopting.) So, while Miss B is dying of curiousity about the little furry crankpot, he is controlling the interactions, and doing a handy job of it, too. Tuxedo, though, is hiding with the youngest, and doesn’t come out until night or during Miss B’s daily walks.
Now, Tuxedo Kitty was never really the same after he got kicked in the head by a squirrel. He seemed to feel the need to prove his masculinity, which led to a lot of Brokeback scenes around the house until Cranky Quacker and Lemur (our youngest kitty) staged an intervention. Two days solid of hissing, batting, chasing, and yowling.
Fun times. Anyway. Afterward, Tuxedo seemed to have something to prove. He’s just as sweet and stupid as ever with humans, but new critters get short shrift from him.
So there I was, Tuxedo Kitty coaxed out and made much of, petted and soothed. Miss B was quiet and composed, about four feet away. Then…I don’t know. Something exploded. I was on my feet, Tuxedo Kitty got the bright idea that UP was where he wanted to go, and it ended up with me bleeding from the face, head, shoulder…You know, I’m always surprised by just how damn messy head wounds are.
Funny thing about dogs and kids–they’ll handle all sorts of things with incredible aplomb as long as the alpha keeps her cool. Miss B, of course, had no clue what had just happened. “HEY, WHAT WAS THAT SOUND? MY BUTT SMELLS FUNNY. IS THAT FOOD? WHERE ARE YOU GOING? IS THERE FOOD THERE?”
Little Prince was slightly less clueless. “Wow. That’s a lot of blood. Are you okay? Want me to help? I can help. I know where the BandAids are.”
The Princess had her own set of questions. “What happened? Want me to get the cat? He’s hiding under the bed. Oh, wow, you’re bleeding. Did you know that?”
I think it probably says something that I’m calm even with blood running down my face. Of course, I had two animals to corral, and the kids heard the ruckus and had to be kept copacetic. Once there’s bleeding, something clicks inside my head and Disaster Management Lili takes over. And let me tell you, that bitch has brass balls, plus ice water in her veins. So at this point, I was the calmest organism in the room. “You. Sit there. You, back up. You, get in the loo and grab the Bactine. Move.”
And lo, they hopped to obey. After a few minutes of Bactine-spraying, Neosporin-smearing (because cat scratches, ZOMG, who knows what those little bastards have on their Scythes of Doom?) and bandaging, I was right as rain. At that point I was more amazed at how high Tuxedo had managed to climb than anything else.
Little bastard was motivated.
So that’s how I ended up washing dried blood out of my hair this morning. I seriously thought I’d outgrown that sort of thing, but there you go. I’ll tell you, it’s a lot happier to be doing it after cat scratches than after a barfight. But that’s (say it with me) another blog post.
Tune in tomorrow, incidentally, for the tale of Miss B meeting her first squirrel! *evil twinkle*
* All names have been altered to protect the innocent, guilty, and just plain unlucky.