A Literary Trap
When I named my three kittens after characters in my book, I did not expect them to try to re-enact a key scene.
In the Midst of Death… opens with a minor but pivotal character called Varmint, a raccoon who gets her foot caught in one of Ralph Folsom’s traps, thus triggering a series of events that drive the already haunted man past the brink of madness.
Early Sunday morning, I got to witness a minor version of my own prose:
“The iron jaws snapped close, missing Varmint’s head and upper foreleg, but still closing inexorably upon her right front paw. Unimaginable pain shot up the leg and through her whole body until it was hard to tell where the injury began….She cried, a high-pitched chirping sound; she nearly broke her sharp teeth against her treacherous enemy; she came to rest in dumb misery against the hopelessness of defeating it.”
Jess, the black and white kitten, somehow got a toe on her right front foot caught in the metal levers of my easy chair. I’m not talking about snagging a claw on the upholstery. This was the actual flesh and probably broken bone caught between two pieces of metal.
The screaming was intense. So was the biting as she took it out of me. By the time the police arrived — yes, I was frantic enough to call 911 — my hand and arm were smeared with blood.
Jess is recovering nicely with the help of pain meds. The foot is swollen, but it certainly hasn’t slowed her down when it comes to racing around the house.
I am trying to rearrange my finances to take in the unexpected vet bills.
And the easy chair is now sitting on the curb waiting for bulk pickup.