Moving Boxes and Slicing Open a Finger

Print this entry

I woke Saturday morning ready to seize the day, a mental list of what I planned to do at top of mind. My Beautiful Mystery Companion was still in Denton helping daughter Abbie and fiancé Brady get settled into their new home. I was also there for a few days, lugging boxes and bins down a couple flights of stairs as they transition from an apartment to an actual house in a neat neighborhood called Idiot’s Hill.

I did not notice a hill or any idiots in particular while there, but both might become more obvious on subsequent visits. Best I can tell from online sleuthing, Idiot’s Hill got its name either because it is home to a number of university professors, and the townies gave it the name as a joke; or the name derives because the area has sandy loam soil that is not conducive for building – so anyone who did so nonetheless was considered an idiot.

I figure it’s the faculty living there.

Anyway, I had to return home to take care of critters, spelling our nephew Connor who happily house sat while I was gone. The animals were all excited to see me but kept looking behind me as if expecting someone else. As in, my BMC who is the Pied Piper of this household. Wherever she goes, rest assured a trail of critters is in her wake. By comparison, I am chopped liver. Mealtime increases my popularity, albeit temporarily.

I tumbled out of bed ready to turn on the coffee maker. As I rounded the corner in the sunroom, I stepped into something cold and wet. Ugh. One of the dogs, likely Gatsby, had not been able to hold it.

Non-pet owners might not know this true fact – or they might know it and that is why they don’t have pets. On occasion, especially if you have four critters (two dogs, two cats), somebody is going to have an accident. Either pee or puke are most likely. More egregious offenses are exceedingly rare now. That reality is why the first thing we did upon moving into this home on Three Geese Farm was to rip out all the carpet and put in either ceramic tile or engineered hardwood. Carpet and critters simply do not pair well, sort of like drinking red wine while downing a burger. Everyone knows a burger requires a beer.

After muttering several imprecations, I let the dogs out, cleaned the puddle, and jumped in the shower to rinse off my bare, pee-soaked foot. Next step was to feed the two cats. Tater, our 16-pound blubba nugget, starts meowing for groceries about 5 a.m. I had already thrown a pillow at him to get him to shush for a bit. I pulled out a can of catfood as both he and Olive Kitty milled around at my feet. All I could think of was shutting up the yowling so I could make coffee. I yanked open the lid of the cat food can and promptly sliced open the middle finger of my right hand. More imprecations ensued. Blood spurted everywhere. This was beginning to look like a crime scene.

I managed to stanch the flow long enough to get a Band-Aid on it, which quickly soaked through. I kept changing them and mopping up blood. After four hours, I realized another trip to the emergency room was in my future, since it was Saturday, and my doctor was not at work. Face it, it is always either Saturday, Christmas or some other day the doc is not working when emergencies occur – though a sliced finger is an embarassingly minor emergency to bother medical professionals about.

Those medical professionals were exceedingly kind, as I spent the next three hours in the ER, in which actual care didn’t exceed five minutes. That is the way it goes when genuine emergencies are taking place. The ER doc glued my sliced finger together and advised me to avoid getting it wet for 48 hours. I wore a black disposable glove on my right hand while showering, sort of a reverse Michael Jackson look.

When mealtime arrived, the Saturday basically shot and carefully laid plans abandoned, the cats stared at me once again. Luckily, the cat food can from this morning was still half full, eliminating the risk of further injury. And the dogs have been dutifully taking their business outside. All of them are waiting on my BMC to return, so the world spins rightly on its axis again, as am I.

Print this entry