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madwoman (continues…)

After falling on my ass, I saw it; crouched on the seat of the dining room chair (my chair), hackles raised and ready to run.  Through some unexpected burst of adrenaline I caught it by the tail and deposited in into the crate toot sweet.  I brought the crate out to the lake.  Not a deep lake, but deep enough I surmised, to do the job, and tossed it in with all my might.  Quickly I shut the door and returned to the front porch where I calmly smoked a cigarette.  That being done I set about returning the house to some semblance of normalcy, all the while rehearsing and composing the sad sad story of the little black kitten’s unforunate demise. 

madwoman

Wow.  All the joy that I was certain was irretrievable- is back.  Don’t be alarmed, there is no unpercieved sarcasm or latent punchline in this (for once).  For so long it had seemed that my life was one long stand up joke without a punchline (think ‘Aristocrats’, but cleaner), and I started to convince myself that death would be the only punchline.  Then…

I found my last demon hiding under the foot of my bed, blinking its yellow eyes slowly, and biting and scratching my ankles each morning that I woke.  It was there all along, cleverly disguised as a harmless black kitten; until I drug it out and thrust it into the sunlight with my weakened right arm- whereupon I saw how easily it could be killed.

I didn’t kill it right away, but took my time making it feel comfortable and at home; devising my admirable plan for vengeance.  After several sleepless pain ridden nights I decided how it would have to be done.  Once the family was safely out of the house, I set off for the hardware store.  When I left it was a sunny cool aesthetically pleasing day in late November:  when I returned the thunder clouds rolled across the sky like a stage curtain, matching my pace, chasing me.  Once in the house I hastened to shut the windows and close the blinds-- I wanted no witnesses to the atrocious deed I was being forced to commit.  After quite a lot of banging with hammer and wood, the crate was ready, but the “cat” had disappeared.  I ransacked the house with the determination of a madwoman (which I was, by then) stopping only to speak with my husband on the phone, modulating my voice with faked sanity and practiced contentment, assuring him that everything was A-OK, hunky dory, swell; but perhaps I was coming down with a cold (to explain my failing voice); all the while still turning in agitated circles, ripping my hair out in clumps, losing my balance and injuring myself when my eyes rolled back in my head....

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