Author: Dan Jenkins

I’d been resting.  My guard was down.  In a false sense of security I’d been lulled into complacency when the attacks started.  My bed shook only slightly before the ending scenes of life unfolded in the area around my bedroom.

From all sides they appeared, brandishing blades from nations unseen.  Fast movements, injuries, blood.  I’m much lighter now but so easily caught by surprise.  Now I was ashamed at being caught by surprise at how quickly I was losing this battle.  I found my blade.  Too late.  A jab to the head.  A boxer?  Something much faster.  My head clouded and the muffled sounds of swiping blades were further dulled by my injury even as their swords clashed with my own.

I was dizzy.  Despite instinct to fight and ignore the odds I found myself, for the first time, counting my adversaries.

Rookie mistake.  One man can kill as quickly as twenty.  I lost track at three.  It could have been seven.  It may as well been fifty.  One dropped, the frequency of blows decreased but only momentarily.  The others redesigned their flank and improved their technique.  I may have just made them more efficient.  An enemy that grows strength with each loss.  An enemy worth my attention.  Warmth surrounded my face.  I was bleeding, but from where I couldn’t say.  It may have been the fallen’s blood but he died too quickly to make such a mess.  I nearly tripped over his body, his last act as my foe.  It was certainly my blood.  I was out of practice.

More blows. The room was dark, made more so by the clothing they wore, now whirling around me like phantom killers.  I refocused, dodged back and centered my enemies as a group before me.  Charging in, I opened three with two short movements of my blade.  Three soft thuds then the distinct sound of trickling blood from sliding entrails… and more whirring.  I was still counting.  Cursing myself as I counted, but counting nonetheless.

Again I lost track at three.  More than seven left.  Increasing numbers?  Human?

And then a growl.  Deep, brooding, pained.  Nothing from this Earth or any other.  Warmth.

The ground below exploded as the now countless bodies of my unknown enemies erupted as nothing more than debris.  And there it was…

An Old One.  Dark.  Destructive.  Awake.  It’s moan pierced the souls of those not fallen while I shielded my eyes and ears.  I was preparing for my good end.  Reaching for a second blade, I dared eye contact with that which has no name, challenging it towards me in defiance of terror.  This night would be my end.

The ground shook again as more mystic flesh from the ancient body crept from below, unending as the abyss from whence it came.  A claw.  Swiping down upon me as a building collapses upon a fly.  I stood resolved in death, blades held to match and somehow wounding the beast’s appendage.  I left a well of foul smelling blood from the incision, damaging the beast as the soft breeze damages the oak.

Barely escaping the crashing claw, I prepared for the next attack convinced now that any time for action I took was a gift of fortune I had not earned.  Fire surrounded me as the beast’s blood ignited in our air.  Blue flames towered over me from all sides as my clothes began to smoke.  A careless flip left my left arm burned and the blade it held a molten pile in the beast’s bloody inferno.  A small price for another fleeting moment’s life.  Dodging in all directions, I was unharmed by the remnants of the place I once called home as the debris fell from the hulking beast like the destruction of a tornado.  I prepared for a new attack when I realized I had not yet been attacked.

The creature was simply clamoring from its ancient crypt.  I remained unnoticed.  Angry now at my insignificance, I regained my focus and sunk my remaining blade into the beast as it continued it’s ascent.  Using the blade and my burned hand I climbed higher to reach the creature’s head and meet its gaze again.

Parasitic creatures of all sizes and terrors coated the beast’s body, some still in slumber.  Those not left catatonic raged towards me, each meeting the end of my blade and falling to the scorched Earth like so much dandruff.

A larger creature, horned and menacing, lunged forward.  It shook me from my grip to the ancient beast’s hide.  Upon his back I rode as it charged around the Old One’s flesh, racing higher before an immediate halt at a still larger creature’s form.  They fought as I clung to my smaller creature’s horn.  Their indescribable forms clashed against each other as though fighting for the privilege of devouring my soul.  In a desperate move by the smaller demon, I was flung from the horn as the creature plunged it into the larger foe.  Acidic spray coated both creatures now writhing in agony as I was propelled to the bridge of the Old One’s snout.

A paralyzing eye met my gaze and in a resolved rage I plunged my blade into it.  The head of the evil thing wretched back as four massive claws crashed upon the head clutching the wound as the entirety of the creature fell back, now finally wounded and aware of its nemesis.

It’s descent and the resulting crash into the Earth caused a great quake and low moans filled the air as the ground opened all over and more Old Ones began their climb to freedom, their climb to my and all else’s end.

I was flung to the ground, using my blade to slow my descent on the trembling hide of the Old One.  The army of Old Ones scrambled from their dark caverns all prepared to meet the threat I had presented to one of their breed.  As if surrounded by the planets themselves, I stood in wait.  For if the world were to end, I would meet it with both eyes open.  Nearly in unison, they groaned a verse that hurt all over.  The darkness thickened and the only light came from the fierce eyes now glaring at me.  They groaned another verse and I knew they were summoning the power to destroy all that exists when they were interrupted very suddenly.

Another growl.  Menacing.  Louder than before.  But not from these beasts.  From behind.  A new creature.  Smaller.  More ferocious.  I was caught by surprise for the second time, a second mistake for which I had yet to be punished.  It started low and built to an apex of fury unmatched by the old tormented beasts from below.

A hiss.

A growl.

He had come.

Attacking from behind me, he landed only momentarily at the end of my blade before leaping again into an Old One’s face.  The dark beast howled in pain as his new foe tore at his flesh as a hundred feral creatures at once.  This Old One fell beside the first fallen beast, now attempting to stand again and take it’s revenge for its blinded eye.

My ally looked at me from the forehead of it’s now vanquished prey.  He nodded slightly and my legs gave out from beneath me.  Falling to my knees I watched him leap from one beast to the next, leaving their smoldering bodies to fall back into the torturous pits from which they’d emerged.  The skillful, yet unpredictable, nature of his attack confused his prey and the Earth shook once more.

The army of the Old Ones was afraid.  It is written that when the end comes, a sacrifice may cause it’s horsemen to retreat, leaving a scorched land with a hope of rebirth.  The end was indeed here and my ally had frightened it.  Seas boiled and the dead rose.  Those once concerning foes from my bedroom now lurching about the landscape dragging limbs and foreign blades, not seeking flesh, but a refuge from their new foe.  I was the lone soul still left to witness, still left to know what was to come.

Old Ones began to stumble upon Old Ones, all seeking shelter from the rage of my ally.  Blood rained from the sky and from the wounds of the Old Ones.  The blood ignited again in our air and fire fell all around me.  I shielded my skin while the butcher drank the flames to fuel his attack.  Our world was death, and my ally, the death dealer.

Even as the beasts fled, he pursued them, craving their flesh… craving their fear.  With each torn limb he became stronger, his hiss and growl more massive.  If the sun itself had crashed upon him, he’d have swallowed it up and breathed fire on his enemies.

As the last Old One fell, my friend again looked at me.  By now I was shaking and tears streamed down my face.  Of all the souls in torment on this Earth, I alone knew what was to come.  His rage subsided and he walked towards me.  He rubbed his head on my leg and I held him.  I could feel the heat from his past in his fur.  He was comforting me as I foolishly thought I could comfort him.  The world had ended around me despite my best defenses and attacks, yet my friend had conquered all those that initiated it and in doing so left me safe in the wasteland of his wake.

He trembled, only slightly, and let out a low growl as the needle entered the vein in his back leg.

“Good boy,” she said.  She pet his back.  She’d never met him.  She’d never met me.

“It’s alright pal, you’re going to be ok.”  I was trying to convince us both.  I only know I failed myself.  I’ll never know for him.

The growl subsided and his breathing slowed.  He looked at me again and when my tear fell upon it, his whisker twitched.

“I’m sorry, Steve.  I’m so sorry ,Steve.”  The stiffness in his body seemed to fade.  His breathing was soft.  It was the first time in a long time that he felt relaxed.  All of that pain, all of that misery… it seemed to be loosening its grip.

“It won’t be long,” she said.  Her stethoscope was on his chest, near his stomach.  He hates when you touch his stomach.  He didn’t react.  He didn’t move.  He sighed.

I rubbed his head behind his ear, like I’d done so many times over the past twelve years.  I told him I loved him.  I told him I’d miss him.  I thanked him for tolerating my mother-in-law even though he couldn’t tolerate my step-daughters.  I told him I was glad we got to be in the same house for the last year even though he had to live separate from me.  I told him I was sorry for the last year and for choosing my wife and girls over him.  I told him I didn’t blame him for not changing his ways just because I had changed mine.  I told him I might be wrong about that whole God thing so just in case, he should try to behave himself.  I told him I loved him.  I told him I loved him and I rubbed his head and his breathing ceased with a low growl.  A warrior to the end.

When the next tear fell upon it, his whisker didn’t twitch.

“He’s gone.  I’ll give you some time.”  She’d never met him.  She’d never met me.  She walked out of the room and we were alone.

I suppose his demise came somewhat differently than I described.  I prefer to remember it that way.  The options for his death were limited and none of those choices were particularly deserving a friend like him.

For his funeral, I and two friends sent him off the way of a warrior… on a burning ship I built, sailing towards open water.  We celebrated his life by shortening our own in good drink and cheer.

Rest in peace dear friend.

Thoughts on my wife

My wife, Rebekah, has a new job.  She now works for a state agency that designs, trains, and enforces regulations to make sure the folks giving supports to other folks who have disabilities do a good job.

She has a long history of working in this field… supporting folks with disabilities and supporting other folks who support folks with disabilities.  She has a common sense, realistic approach and a genuine desire to make her part of the world a much better place.

Plus she’s hot and lets me look at her naked.

Her new job allows her to work from home.  I won’t lie, I originally pictured this as her lying in bed with a laptop, in her pajamas with the TV on and a bag of chips within arm’s reach.

I was so wrong.

Our new home has a little “cut out” in the bedroom that she’s using as her office.  It’s not very big.  In truth, it’s not a proper office for someone like her.  She needs more space.  We may do some modifications to the garage so she can have more space.

Regardless, she’s busy as all hell.  I took a sick day last week and that chick busted her butt all day long researching Virginia Code, reading important looking stuff… ok admittedly I have no idea what she was doing because I was downstairs on the couch watching DVDs on the floor (no cable yet and my brother hasn’t hung my TV).  I assume she was working because she didn’t come down to see me and goof off even once.

I don’t have the self-control to stifle a laugh when a stranger farts… at a funeral… and she can be trusted to sit in her own home all day with literally no oversight whatsoever and do her job.  She’s incredible.  And when she’s not doing that, she’s traveling all over the state (in her semi-sweet state car) talking with other providers (like me) and trying to make sense of the mess our Commonwealth has made for itself.  That’s a long boring story even if you work in this field so I’ll spare you the details.

Basically lots of changes are happening and only a few of them make sense and no one understands any of them and everybody is pooping their Pampers as a result.

My wife is one of the folks trying to quiet everyone’s fears and untangle the mess.

And who better?  The following are the top four reasons why Rebekah is so trusted:

1. She has more patience than anyone I’ve ever met. Her two children can be the most frustrating demons on Earth, and yet she has resisted the urge to eat her young for 11 years.  She also has a history of working with very difficult people both in her personal and professional life.  With few exceptions, those folks all respect her, even when they don’t like what she has to say.  And why is that?  I’ll tell you… It’s because…
2. She’s honest. If she doesn’t know, she’s going to tell you she doesn’t know.  She isn’t going to make up some bullcrap on the spot just to sound credible (I do that, but I just happen to be awesome at it… don’t tell anybody).  She’ll also tell you what you need to hear when you need to hear it, even if you don’t want to hear it.  She works in a world where there are thousands of people who need thousands of things and the system in place to meet those needs is flawed at best.  She will fight (and has fought) to get the needed things for the folks doing the needing, and if she can’t do it she will tell you… and then she’ll keep trying anyway because…
3. She is dedicated. If she says she’s going to do it, it’s going to get done.  End of story.  It might take a while, which happens when you’re trying to solve a few hundred problems at once, but it’ll get done.
4. She’s kind. My wife sees the value and positive attributes in everyone she encounters, even when she’s pissed at them (good thing too… otherwise, you know, divorce).  She just genuinely likes to solve problems for people and revels in a satisfaction most people will never know.  And not because of a paycheck (our field pays shit), but because she helped somebody.  When I first fell in love with her it happened to be the first time I saw her.  She was wearing green nursing scrubs and was supporting a particularly challenging individual with a developmental disability.  It was my understanding at the time that the guy she was helping was kind of a dick… and yet you could tell how much she cared about his satisfaction just by watching her interact with him.  And I should know, I watched for a while and not just because she looked incredible in those scrubs.

I mentioned that her job requires a bit of travel.  I should admit, I never find myself more motivated to write about my wife than when she is traveling.

Last night she had to stay in Richmond.  I slept alone, unless you count the Rebekah-shaped pillow configuration I made on her side of the bed.

She worries about that.  No, not the pillow pile, the being away from home.  She almost didn’t take the job because she was afraid she might be needed at home but would be too far away to get there “in time.”  I assured her everything would be fine and that we had enough of a support network to pitch in if we needed help with the sprats.

It’s a thin line between saying, “I can handle things without you from time to time,” and “We don’t need you.”  The truth is… I am quite capable of handling things without her.  I handle things without her just fine.  Yesterday I got the girls to their various day time destinations, picked them up from said destinations, fed them (healthy food too), and got them to bed at a reasonable hour.

I handled yesterday just fine.  And that’s what you do in situation that isn’t ideal… you handle it.  Nobody bled and everybody was happy.  Handled.

But the truth is… it’s awful when she’s not home.  I don’t mean to suggest she needs to quit this job.  I mean to suggest that despite my uncanny ability to “handle” things without her… it’s almost impossible to enjoy things without her.

Chili Dawg and I had several days and nights together while Bob was at camp and Rebekah was on a business trip (that sounds so grown up!).  We had a lot of fun together.  It was just the two of us and it was great.  I feel like we communicated very well and got even closer.  It was actually a great opportunity.

But I missed my wife.  I don’t miss that Chili Dawg has an invisible umbilical cord when mommy is around and therefore doesn’t enjoy my company as much… but there are nuances, looks, quips, exchanges, moods, tones, etc. that don’t exist when she’s not there.

She’s coming home tonight and I’m very excited.  Keep in mind, she’s been gone less than 2 days.  But I miss her.  I want to hear about her day and her trip and all of that and I want to move that damn pile of pillows.

Whipped (adj):  guy that can’t function without his female significant other due either because of manipulation or lack of sense of self.

It’s not quite that bad.  I just know that no matter what fun I might be having, I find that I want her to be a part of it.  And if we could score a babysitter, I’d probably take her to the next poker game… if one ever happens again.

I hope the girls grow up to have that same natural default to pleasantness.  If you’ve met Rebekah you know how you respond to her.  She makes it very easy to relax around her.  I couldn’t socialize my way out of a wet paper bag (shut up, I have no idea what that means).  I hope Bob develops that same demeanor… along with a good right hook because unfortunately it’s easy to take advantage of folks who are naturally kind.

Back to that patience thing… I’ve earned a few shots to the nuts over our 2+ year marriage.  And yet, she hasn’t cashed in on any of them.  I can be a real asshole.  It’s genetic.  I don’t think that makes her a pushover though I do need to be careful, as other folks have certainly done their share of shoving.

But when I think of all the petty stuff I’ve argued and fought over in previous relationships… or all the random shit I’ve seen other folks argue and fight over… I’m amazed at what I have.  It’s not an issue with us.  Oh we bicker plenty and we’re not without our issues, but I get the sense that 9 times out of… 9.1, I’m the one that needs to get over it.

And what have we learned?

My wife is obviously a master manipulator.  She’s sunk her talons into my back and has been wielding me like a weaponized puppet since the day I first laid eyes on her.  She knew even then… years before we were a couple, that she had a target in me.  She has me believing I’m wrong and she’s right in most of our conflicts.

She’s got me to the point that I write three or four pages of flowery nonsense just because she went away on business (so grown up!!) FOR ONE NIGHT!

She’s even tricked everyone around her into believing she’s this sweet, innocent yet sassy creature capable of unlimited kindness and comfort while all the while plotting her eventual ascent to world dominance… or at least Dan dominance (… that reminds me of something else to look forward to when she gets home).

Pretty sneaky of her… I mean, you have to respect the effort that goes into unconditionally loving a person and supporting them through all of their ups and downs asking nothing in return but a fraction of the love that was so freely given.  She even got her kids in on this game!

And she hasn’t just tricked me, she’s tricked all my friends and family too.  Had I the fortitude to rebel against this obvious Jedi mind-trick I might be able to wriggle free of its hold on me.

But alas, I cannot.

So there you have it… she must be destroyed.

 

 

We’re trying to buy a house.  If all goes well, we will close on a duplex on June 9th.  Let me tell you… there’s a lot of grown up stuff that goes into this.

And I don’t understand most of it.

Here’s what I do understand… We wanted to find a house with a fenced in backyard.  Actually we had a long list of things we wanted.  And the duplex we found has most of them.  Whatever, it’s a place to put our stuff and raise the kids.

Back to the fence… this house has a small fenced in backyard.  The girls (my wife included) want a dog.

I, however, do not.  I accept that I have been outvoted on the dog issue but I’m not happy about it.  Pets are smelly, they require attention and… sigh.

Dammit I want my own pet.

I used to have Steve-the-Cat.  Steve-the-Cat was the best cat anyone could ever ask for.  I had to put Steve-the-Cat to sleep last year.  It was very hard because I had Steve for 13 years.  Steve hated everyone but me.  Steve loved me.  Steve grew to tolerate the existence of a few other people on this planet but generally speaking he despised everyone.  He treated the world around him like I would were it not for legal statutes and relatively large doses of anti-depressants.  He said what I was always thinking.

What else could you ask for?  Well… if you’re a step parent, you could ask for a lot more… like a pet that doesn’t try to maim the children at every opportunity.

Steve was the last hold-out on my former life.  I consider my former life to be all that was before I was a parent, a husband and a grown up.  Steve represents my bachelorhood.  Let me tell you about Steve-The-Cat.  Some of you have met Steve, but none of you know Steve.

At the end of my junior year of college it was determined that a select number of seniors would be permitted to live off campus.  This was largely due to the fact that there was an influx of applications to the school and no more closets in which to cram students.  Upcoming seniors were given a random number.  The administration would begin to call numbers in order and if your number was called you had the option of living off campus and taking a roommate with you.  They did this until they had basically let enough of us evict ourselves that they could admit new students without committing some kind of human rights violation.  The goal was 100.  So the lower your number, the sooner you were called and the better chance you had to live off campus.

I was number 11.  Sweet.  I chose my best friend as my roommate though he had actually knocked up his girlfriend and they made… other living arrangements.  Therefore, my first apartment was without a roommate (which was also pretty sweet).

I got a tiny little apartment that didn’t allow pets.  So naturally, I wanted a pet.  And coming from a childhood home that once held as many as 7 cats (as well as an iguana), I wanted a cat.  I started searching the paper for ads for free kittens.  By the way, I know Craigslist was a thing back then (it was 2003) but I wasn’t the technological super genius I am today (#iknowwhatahashtagisnow).  I found an ad, called the number and spoke to what I felt was the sweetest old lady on Earth.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’m calling about the ad in the paper about the kittens.”

“Oh wonderful!  Yes, there’s a lot of them and I want them to have a good home.  How many do you want sweetie?”

“Just one ma’am.”

“Well that will be fine too.”  I could hear in her voice that she had at least two pies on a windowsill.

She gave me her address and I headed out.  Her farm was a bit of a trek from my apartment.  When I got there I had to drive over one of those farm gate thingies that’s basically a big hole with metal bars over it.  I always see those at dairy farms.  My assumption is that cows won’t walk over that because they’re afraid their hooves would get stuck?

Who the hell discovered that?  Is that what scientists worked on before subatomic particles?

“Ok Dr. Cowenstein, let’s see what happens when we make the cow walk across these metal bars.”

“Of course Dr. Metalbarsenburg.  Eureka!  Just as we thought!  The cow doesn’t want to break it’s legs!”

Why can’t cows just be more careful?  Why can’t you hunt cows?  Isn’t that the biggest game you could hunt in this country outside of buffalo?  Wouldn’t that save money on African Safari trips?  What about zoos?  Why can’t we hunt the animals in the zoo?  Not in the cages, that’s sick.  But like, maybe out back in the parking lot or something.

Ooo… that’s in poor taste.  R.I.P. giant gorilla at that zoo who got shot for dragging a little kid around.  Let’s pass a law, now that I’m thinking about it.  Zoos should have rodeo clowns to protect people who fall into the enclosures because screw you clown, that’s the only acceptable position for your kind.

Anyways, I get over the cow murderer and past the barn and in the distance, I see the house and the old lady is already on the porch.  This is a weathered old lady.  She’s a little hunched over, it seems every step is causing her pain.  The drive leads to a small patch of gravel between the barn and house.  She slowly makes her way to my truck as I get out to meet her.

“Hello ma’am.”

“You must be the young man about the kittens.  Well they’re right in there.”  She points to the barn.

It’s an old barn.  It’s fallen into disrepair.  And while it once may have protected the equipment of a thriving farm, it’s now a simple withered relic… a reminder of days long gone.  The small, barely-beaten path leading to it is outlined in rusted milk cans, abandoned appliances and paint cans.

I remember being overwhelmed by a sense of longing for a life I’d never lived.  I remember feeling safe and warm.  It was sunny that day.  And while there were no pies in eyesight, I could have sworn that the comfort of every grandmother ever was alive in the overgrown wheat and weeds of this time-forgotten oasis of nostalgia.

And I remember that feeling so well because of the instant and sharp contrast that washed over me when that sweet old lady opened the door of her barn to reveal the torture-porn movie set of what was now clearly an evil witch temporarily caught in a flattering light by a guy craving pie and a kitten’s love.

You ever see The Evil Dead?  If you haven’t, go find it.  It’s the quintessential “bunch of teenagers in a cabin in the woods that get massacre by evil stuff” film.  There’s a scene where the group arrives to the creepy cabin and when they open the door, the shot moves to the darkness inside revealed by light as the sun pushes through the opening door.  Plus there’s this really creepy squeaky old door sound happening.  You actually see the dust in the air, reflecting off the sun.  The whole scene screams, “GO TO THE HOLIDAY INN YOU IDIOTS BECAUSE YOU’RE GOING TO GET ALL THE POSSESSED AND EATEN IN THIS JOINT”

Oh you think I’m being over dramatic?  Who the hell do you think you are?  I was there and this place was evil.

Only instead of a (visable) copy of the Book of the Dead (bound in human flesh and inked in human blood), there was a necropolis of feral creatures and their survivors.  The first thing I noticed was the smell.  My dad used to hunt.  He was especially good at killing squirrels and rabbits (delicious by the way).  I remember him cleaning the game and that unmistakable odor.

Death.

The light reached into the barn and grabbed at the stale, rancid air.  It illuminated an emotion I’d not felt in a long time… genuine fear.  Suddenly believing the free kitten advertisement was a ploy to lure unsuspecting victims to sacrifice, I turned, considering fleeing.  But she was there, blocking the doorway.

The light was eclipsed by her haggard form.  To flee would mean confronting the witch in her chamber of death.  I’d have a better chance at salvation in a church, though by no coincidence, there was no church near this barn.

“They’re in the back, sweetie.  Be careful.”  I would have sworn she was grinning had it not been for the blinding light surrounding her blackened figure.

“Alright.  Thank you.”  I accepted my fate.  A fool’s punishment for foolish trust.  Walking through the barn, I looked to the right.  Hanging from the rafter was a series of ancient rusted tools.  Whatever had once been harvested in earnest was likely far from the last thing these decaying blades had sliced.  I found myself deciding which item I found the least offensive to carve me open.

To the left was the first sound beyond my thundering heartbeat to come from the interior of this prison of destruction.  A buzz.  Another buzz.  Many buzzes.

Flies.  Lots of them.  Swarming over a pile of hay.  Any other day I would assume there was animal waste beneath the hay.  Today I assumed far worse.  And actually, I wasn’t that far off.  In the hay was a collection of bones.  I wish I were making that up.  Some could have been chicken bones, some could have been other small birds.  At least one was a cat’s skull.  Seriously.  A friggin’ skull.

I remember picturing a starving cat being pecked to death by a flock of dying birds, fed up with watching their kin be picked off to feed the starving pack of wild cats.

Oh and there were starving cats.  Lots of them.  Ahead of me, as promised, were cats.  Lots of them.  The large ones were only large in length.  Their bones were nearly as visible as the pile beside me.  As I approached them, I smelled their musk and decay growing stronger.  The simple waft that had hit me when the door first opened was simply the weaker smell fleeing the powerful.

There was more sound now.  Scurrying.  Maybe cats, maybe mice, maybe rats.  There were a number of snake skins on the ground.  This barn was an enclosed food chain and it seemed everything was eating well and starving at the same time.

Shut up, it’s my memory and everything was well fed and starving at the same time in the scary barn owned by the creepy old bag.  Jeez.

I found the source of some of the scurrying in the back corner of the barn.  It was my prize.  Nestled in hay, empty feed bags and old bottles was a pile of kittens.  At first sight it was a beautiful relief from the horror movie I’d traversed to find.  Upon closer inspection, it was obvious that some of these kittens were malnourished and likely doomed to die.  At the very top of the pile were the smallest, youngest kittens… some with eyes still closed.  At the bottom were the ones that weren’t adults yet, but certainly not new kittens.

It was a mass of snuggling brown and grey fur.  I imagine at the base of that pile was a very tired mother cat with very stressed out nipples.  It was a sight to behold.  A soft pyramid of cuddle doomed to die in the Auschwitz around them, clinging to each other in desperation, hope and the comfort-seeking resolve of the condemned.

And that’s when I saw him.  From the bottom of that pile crawled an orange and white adolescent male cat.  He wasn’t fully grown.  He was a kitten… sorta… one of the older ones.  He was the only cat there with any brilliance to his coat.  At first I thought of him as the favored among the pack… the one warrior they had chosen to seek out their salvation and rescue their tribe.

Days later I would discover he was the healthiest and best kept because he was the asshole hogging all the milk while his family died around him.

He didn’t look back, he walked right up to my foot, sunk his tiny claws into my pants leg and stretched.  That’s when he looked up and I could see his golden eyes peering into mine.  He pulled harder on my pants and eventually was climbing my leg, past my knee and past my hip. I curled my hand under him as he walked up my chest and pushed his head into my neck and settled in.

Clearly he had chosen the human he wanted.

I looked down at the pile in front of me.  The sight still haunts me to this day.   I couldn’t save them.  I could only save this one.  There was nothing I could do for them.

I turned my back to their plight and walked straight to the old woman.

“I’ll take this one.”

“Oh wonderful,” she said.  “Are you sure you only want one?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Well thank you for coming by, sweetie.”  And with that, she moved to the side and the sun hit me and my cat, burning off the stench of death and guilt.  As we passed the old woman, the cat growled as if in defiance of her abuse.

When I got in my truck, the cat moved to my lap and we left that terrible place together.  He looked like a Steve.  And so I came to call him Steve.  Steve-the-Cat.

And while I could have called animal control and ended that woman’s reign of terror on the animals in her grip, I decided I really didn’t care that much about a bunch of raggedy old animals that were probably going to die anyway of some horrible cat disease or starvation or something.  Screw ’em.  I had my cat.  What am I, the SPCA?

Circle of life, all of that.

Our first adventure together was far from our most challenging and wouldn’t be the first time when one of us would rescue the other.  Steve was 13(ish) when he died.  And for 12 of those years (would have been 13 if I would have had the brass nuts to take him to Massachusetts with me for that year), he was the best friend I’d ever had.

He tolerated some of my friends, in that he allowed them into our home from time to time.  He literally fed on one of my friends while he slept, bleeding from the foot, the direct result of an ice-sledding accident caused by the faulty brake systems of the cardboard box we thought would be awesome one afternoon when we were hammered out of our minds.

He begrudgingly tolerated the various women I let into my life.  That sounds way more awesome than it really was.  There weren’t that many women.  But generally speaking he hated them all, despite how many of them swore he grew to like them.

His level of abuse was so severe that not being mauled by him was equated to love by the women in my life.  Isn’t that awesome?  Do you know how many women were trained by Steve to stay on their side of the bed?  Do you know how much I miss that?

Steve would force his way between me and my lady friends (again that sounds way more awesome than it is) and they would eventually learn to stay the hell on their side.

That went on for years.  It was Steve and I, and then everybody else.

Then he got very sick.  He crawled into a corner and shrieked.  It was the sharpest yowl I had ever heard.  He was in pain.  Terrible pain.  I needed to take him to the vet but it was late and his “regular” vet was closed… not that they would have seen him anyway, considering the path of destruction and injury he left on his one and only trip there.  No lie, he tore up a vet assistant and had to be gassed under a Rubbermaid tub because the 6 people working that day couldn’t restrain him to give him his shots.

Epic.  More so when I couldn’t produce paperwork to prove he’d had a rabies shot (he hadn’t, I totally lied).  Whatever, that’s what they get for not being me.

Anyway, Steve was sick.  He hate the pet carrier and fought every time he had to get into it… except that time.  I opened it in front of him and he pulled himself by his front paws into it.  I was already in tears.  The vet hospital was 40 minutes away.  I made it in 25, tears streaming down my face as his yowls grew louder and faster… then softer and slower.  When I reached the exit we needed, he had gone silent and I just knew he died on the way.  I had been sobbing, I was now nearly blinded by tears.  My best friend may well have been a corpse beside me.

It cost $50 just for the vet to look at him.  After an hour they told me he might die during the night but it might be possible to save him with a procedure to remove a blockage in his urinary tract.  I was told very specifically, “It’s an expensive procedure and the follow up is just as expensive.  We could put him to sleep.  He wouldn’t be in any pain.”

“Just make him well again.”

That was the first night I ever drove straight to a bar, depressed out of my mind, and drank myself into a stupor.  Thank you Josh for driving me home that night.

Nearly 3 days and $800 later, Steve was returned to me… good as new.

And our adventures continued, but with a greater sense of togetherness.

Then I met Rebekah and the girls… and Steve hated all of them.  He especially hated the little one.

I remember the first time Chili Dawg came into my apartment.  She was 2 at the time.  She looked at Steve and exclaimed, “Look mommy!!!  It’s a MEOW!!!!”  She came running up to Steve (who was already in a bad mood because his heart was beating) with all the excitement and innocence a 2 year old could muster .  Steve arched his back and swatted at her just as Rebekah grabbed up Chili Dawg (rescuing her from certain doom).

“Kitty high-five!” Rebekah nervously exclaims… trying to convince the kid that she hadn’t almost died.

Chili Dawg had never looked so confused in her life.  They never learned to appreciate each other.  In fact, it got to a point that Steve would let out an irritated sigh and walk into the bedroom whenever Rebekah brought the children over.

Once when he wandered out to see if they had gone, Chili Dawg (still 2) looked at him and said, “No Meow!  You’re a bad meow!  Go room!”  Steve actually muttered something under his breath.  I’m not making that up.  His mouth moved.  I could have sworn he said, “god dammit…” and then turned and curled up on the bed again.

And then Rebekah and I got married and the rules changed for Steve.  I wasn’t going to get rid of him.  He was my best friend… but I couldn’t have him near the children because he’d eat them.

We’re currently (for another month anyway) living in the same townhouse we had when we were married.  My mother in law lived in the basement apartment attached to it.

She took him in… reluctantly.  I would visit him from time to time, sitting on the steps separating our living space from his.  He would crawl on me like he had all his life, and then I would leave him again and spend time with my family.

My mother in law tells me that they eventually grew to an understanding and could tolerate each other’s existence.  I saw him less and less, despite him being a few feet from me.  I was a parent and husband.  I couldn’t be a bachelor with a demon cat for a best friend anymore.

I missed him.  There was no question… but we couldn’t have life the way we had had it before.  I changed the rules on him.  And as my life expanded, it forced him out.  I’ve never forgiven myself for that, but at the same time, I don’t think I would have changed it.

Even when he got sick again.  Same kind of sick as before.  Only he wasn’t as lucky that time and no amount of money or sobbing over a glass of whiskey would bring him from death’s door.  I let them put him to sleep.  I held him in my arms as he slowly died… growling all the way.

I hid in my office for the rest of the day, hating myself for letting Steve die in my new life, rather than our life… the way he deserved, choking on the blood of a stranger.  He lived a drunken warrior’s disturbed life… born in filth and poverty and raised in sarcasm and casual violence.

But he died as we all die… on a veterinarian’s table while some guy holds onto us as we growl until the light leaves our eyes and our tails stop moving.

Or something like that.

Whatever.  He died in a way with no glory.  So I wrote him a new death as an announcement to my friends who all feared and respected him.  And afterwards, he got the funeral he deserved.  More on that another day.

I miss my cat.  I don’t think I’ll ever have a pet like him again.  No other animal since then has meant so much, and I doubt one ever will.

But if we are to have a dog in our new home… maybe it can love all of my family… and still hate everyone else.

I can always hope… I can always hope.

 

Here’s a bunch of exchanges I’ve had with folks over the last week or so that have stuck with me.  You’re gonna wanna read this one.  It’s a good one.

…

 

“You ready for this?”

“Yes.  I’ve been ready for this for two years.”

 

…

 

“I kinda pictured this scenario where I flew out there and just kinda sat down and talked to this guy.  You know, plead my case or whatever.”

“No, nothing like that.  All we need to show at this point is that we made a reasonable effort to contact him.”

“I’d rather talk to the guy.”

“Well, there’s what’s legal and there’s what’s right.”

“I’d feel better if I could talk to the guy.  I owe him that much.”

 

…

 

“So what do you think?”

“I would love that!”

“You don’t have to answer right now, you can think about it if you want.”

“Ok, I’ll think about it.”

“…”  Shit

“Do they have dessert here?”

“Yeah.  And tater tots.”

“Really!?  I love those!”

“Right here… see that?  ‘Pot O’ Tots.’  It’s basically a flower pot filled with tater tots.”

“Oh my god!”

“Right?”

“Can I get that?”

“You can get whatever you want kid.”

“Ok I want that and I can’t decide if I want the chocolate chip muffin or the chocolate chip cookie.”

“Whichever you get will be awesome.  Pretty sure they get their desserts from Costco.”

 

…

 

“She said she’d think about it”

“Good.  You have thought about this for a while.  I’m glad she is taking time to think too.”

“Yep.  Although I have a feeling she will be thinking about it for 8 seconds and then she’ll be totally forgetting the conversation.”

“I don’t know.  It’s pretty big, though it is Bob.”

 

…

 

“I don’t think she wants this.  I don’t think I should bring it up again.”

“Were you listening?”

“Not the whole time, maybe the second half.”

“I think you gave her too much to think about.”

“I guess.  Thing is, I think she does want this, but not from me.  It was a dumb idea.”

“She’s 11.”

“I wish you hadn’t told her that I was nervous about it.  I didn’t want her to feel pressured.  Kid’s been through enough.  I’m not going to bring it up again”

“Ok.”

 

…

 

“You know when I said I would think about it?  I thought about it and I want you to.”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

“Cause you don’t have to, but if you’re sure then like I said, it’s pretty straightforward.  Won’t change much but…”

“I know.  I want you too.”

“Alright kid, we’ll make it happen.  I don’t think there’s anything you gotta do, but the lawyer said it’s pretty straightforward.  Just some things we gotta do.  I’ll let you know when we have more info.”

Hugs.  Lots of hugs.  Some tears.

 

…

 

“I don’t want you to be there.”

“Ok kid, it’s your party.  I’ll stay home.  Have a good time.”

“Mommy can tape it and you can watch it at home.”

“Fair enough.”

 

…

 

“Chili Dawg just told me she didn’t want me to come but you could tape it for me.”

“No!  No!  I want you to come!  You come!  You come!  Ok?”

“Right.”

 

…

 

“Well there’s definitely something going on in that shoulder.  I’m ordering an X-ray but if I can’t see anything based on that I’m ordering an MRI.”

“Fabulous.”

“You have insurance, right?”

“Yeah, hope it’s good.  Guess we’ll find out.”

 

…

 

“Schedule him for Monday.  That kinda pain gives you a good reason to be in a bad mood.  Hang in there, alright?”

“Yeah.  Thanks.”

“3pm work for you?”

“Sure.”

“And your copay is $50.”

“Here.”

“Debit or credit?”

“Credit.”

“Here you are.”

“Thanks.”

“Take care.”

“You too.”

 

…

 

“We don’t close until noon so if you can get the X-ray and come back with it we could probably see you again and start you on some therapy before we left for the day.”

“Right.  Thanks.”

“See you!”

“Thanks.”

“…”

“You want me to drive you there?”

“I don’t have time for an X-ray.  I need to get home and change.”

“Just wear what you have on.”

“I can’t!  These are bum clothes.  You said ‘work clothes,’ remember?”

“This is what I’m wearing…”

“I’ll go Monday morning.”

“Ok.”

 

…

 

“He probably won’t come.”

“No wait, there he is.  He’s here.”

“Shit.”

“Well, I could move here and you could…”

“He can sit next to me.”

“You sure?”

“I don’t give a shit.  It’s easier that way.”

 

…

 

“Good to see you Dan.”

“You too.”  Most reviled handshake ever followed by almost 2 hours of Oscar-worthy performance and Job-level patience.

 

…

 

“I think you’re next Chili Dawg.”

“I just want mommy and daddy, not you.”

“That’s fine kid.  It’s your graduation.”  Forced chuckle

“That’s fine but you don’t need to be rude.”

Thanks but don’t bother, mommy.  This kind of thing comes with the title.  Exactly what they want when they can’t have what they want.  A “step” just below I suppose.

 

…

 

“I need to go but my husband is going to stay until he leaves.”

“Ok, no problem.”

“Thanks.”

 

…

 

“So how long are you planning on staying?”

“Oh I don’t know, a while.  I figure most of the teachers are hoping all the kids get picked up so they can get an early Friday.  I think Chili Dawg has a date with her grandmother pretty soon anyway.”

“Oh, well I guess I’ll go say my goodbyes.  Good to see you again Dan.”  Another fucking handshake.  Another missed opportunity.  Another loss.  Another moral victory.  A high ground of reality separating me from the bullshit I’d almost convinced myself of up until today.  A high ground from which I get to watch the lingering embrace between father and daughter like some prison warden witnessing and wielding the forces of evil keeping a family apart.

“He just left so I’m going to go.”

“Ok.  Thanks Dan.”

“Yeah.”  A short walk to the kid.

“See you.”

A wave followed by dashing off to play with her friends.

 

…

 

“Hello?”

“Hey, is this Dan?”

“Yeah.”

“Hi, this is Kyle.  I just got your email.  Is she ok?”

“Yeah, she’s fine.  Thank you for calling me, there’s some stuff I wanted to talk to you about if that’s cool.”

“Sure.”

“It’s gotta be getting kinda weird talking to Rebekah’s husbands I guess.”

“Yeah”  Nervous chuckle.

“Well look… um… here’s the thing dude, I don’t know you or know anything about you but um, I just wanted to thank you.  You contributed to this kid and she’s amazing and I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything.  And I want you to know that I’m always going to love her.  And I’m always going to take care of her.  And I’m always going to keep her safe.  I needed you to know that.”

“I’m really glad to hear that, man.”

“And I don’t want to block you out either.  I want the kid to get to know you and we think she’s ready for that.  We don’t think of you like we do XH.  You and her were just kids back then and it sounds like you got your stuff together and she did too.”

“Yeah.  Her and I were basically cancer to each other.  But that was a long time ago.  We haven’t really talked since like Bob was 1.  We talked on the phone maybe once or twice since then.  When XH contacted me on Facebook that time, her and I had talked about me getting to know Bob, but I know she wasn’t comfortable with it at the time.”

“It was rough for her back then.  XH basically abandoned her.  He raised her until she was 8 and then wanted nothing to do with her.”

“I knew something was going on and I figured throwing me into the mix probably wasn’t the right time.  But if she’s got some of me in her then she’s gotta be smart as hell so I figured one day she’d wanna get to know me.”

Some less nervous laughter between two strangers.

“Definitely man.  She’s definitely ready for that.  I wanted you to know that I’m going to adopt her.  I love that little girl man.  I love her like she was my own.  And I’m going to take care of her and I definitely want you to be a part of her life.”

“That’s cool man.  I’m really glad to hear that.”

“If it’s cool with you, we’re gonna send some stuff your way to check out.  I’m not sure what’s in it but it’s basically some kinda legal notice or something.”

“Oh definitely.  I’m actually getting ready to move for work so I will give that address as soon as I have it, or you could email me the stuff when you get it.”

“Awesome.  I really appreciate that.”

“Yeah, I remember once when XH got in touch with me asking me to give up parental rights or whatever.  Something about that guy, just didn’t seem right.  But you, you’re sending an email and reaching out and that’s a good sign.”

“I appreciate that.  And actually it’s not even that complicated really.  The lawyer said we just needed to make a good effort to contact you but I wanted to at least let know you that she was safe and with somebody that cares about her.”

“Yeah that’s really good to hear.  So yeah whatever you need to send me, great and when she’s ready, I’m not hard to contact.  She could call or we could email or something.  Her and I could get to know each other and so could you and I.”

“That would be great man.  Thank you.”

Some awkward closing statements to a meaningful discussion between two strangers who apparently have a common goal and a mutual respect.

 

…

 

So that’s what’s been going on in my life…  Chili Dawg graduated Preschool and had all the stress a five year old experiences leading up to her first experience of all the parental units in one room and wanting to make sure daddy didn’t feel slighted.  I openly admit I was crushed several times by that kid within the last few days.  There was a lot of self pity going on here until I finally realized… she’s five.  That’s a hell of a lot for a five year old to process, especially one who sees her father for 4 hours a month at the most.

Besides, I was the same way.  Even as a little guy I was very much aware of the tension between all the parents and I remember the stuff I used to do… which was essentially the best I knew how to do… be five.

Sorry I took it personally, Chili Dawg.  I’ll try to do better next time.  Thanks for hugging me last night and for not noticing the mound of emotional dust you crushed me into.  I know we’re cool.  I’ll get your cereal as soon as I’m done here so chill out.

There’s something going on with my neck, right shoulder, right arm and right hand.  One doc said “trigger point.”  No idea what that is.  Gave me steroids.  No help.  Another doc said “neck injury.”  Don’t remember getting injured.  Gave me stronger steroids.  No help.  Chiropractor wants to look at an X-ray because he has no clue what’s going on.  More on that as it develops I suppose.

Should be closing on a house this week.  Don’t wanna jinx it so I’m not saying much else besides, “Thank you.”  That goes to several folks.  None of this would have ever happened without the tremendous generosity we’ve been shown.

Oh… And I’ve started the adoption process for Bob.

Invitations will be coming out for “Gotcha Day,” a concept Bob and I have shamelessly ripped off of a Disney show about a family with adopted children… it will celebrate the day I look at Bob and say, “You’re mine now.  I gotcha.”

There’s going to be a party for the first “Gotcha Day,” then we will likely celebrate on our own in years to come.  But this time there’s going to be a party  There’s going to be food.  There’s going to be music.  There’s going to be friends and family.

And we both expect presents.

We will be registering at various stores (there is nothing about this that is not supposed to be taken seriously.  Gifts.  We want them).  This is a combination baby shower/birthday only not for babies and nobody is getting any older.

There will be speeches.  So bring tissues.

The kid gave me a note the other day that I will post here…

Yes, I totally photo-shopped (badly) a little bit under “Love Bob,” because she had written “Love *real name*” and then erased it (on her own!).  So I have not tampered with the artistic intent of the piece… I just didn’t put a kid’s name on the internet because I’m still weird about that for some reason.  Plus check it out!  She totally confirmed the “Bob” thing.

Did you cry?  I did.  And for good reason too.  I’m going to be a father…

It’s a girl.