Last summer I had the privilege of participating in the Oklahoma Writing Project. We were required to write a personal narrative which I copied and pasted below. It is important to know this story as a precurser to Rat Story Part 2 (soon to come).
The following is a true story. Unfortunately none of the names were created to protect the identity of the victim. I've been told some of the details are a little off - so, Mom, feel free to correct...
As a child, I had a strong desire to change the world. So innocent, I saw the good in everything – excluding bedtime. My passion for animals was a driving force behind my passion for world deliverance. At this time in my life we had a cat cleverly named B.G. by yours truly. I didn’t know how to distinguish the sex of the cat, so as not to embarrass myself I gave it this sensible name short for Boy-Girl. B.G. was the traveling neighborhood cat. He belonged to two other families on the street prior to coming to our household. Distinguished by his bulky size, slick white and black spotted coat and street wise demeanor, B.G. was the nomad of cats. He would stay with one family until he got bored, then moved in with someone else. B.G. made his stay with my family the most memorable on the block.
It was Mother’s day 1989. Tired from a long day of festivities, mom laid down to take a rest on the couch. Dad went ahead to church for the Sunday evening devotional. To avoid an hour of boredom, I convinced dad that I should stay at home to take care of mom; after all, it was Mother’s day. As soon as the garage door shut and mom’s head hit the couch pillow, I darted outside to look for activity.
I noticed B.G. across the street in the neighbor’s yard intently focusing on one spot. Curious, I skipped across the street, probably forgetting to look both ways. As I approached the scene, I noticed B.G. tampering with a small animal. Upon a closer look, I see that this poor helpless being was in dire danger. This small innocent life looked up at me with its small watery eyes looking to be rescued. B.G. was torturing one of God’s little creatures! I couldn’t let this happen. With my “change the world mentality” I screamed at B.G. for hurting this creature and reached down to pick up the limp patient. As my fingers approached the wet grass, what I thought to be a feeble animal in need turned into a lethal beast ready for revenge. The monster jumped what seemed to be a foot in the air and sliced my finger. “How dare you!” I thought to myself. “I was just trying to help!” The grey wire haired beast didn’t move far after the bite. My platform for loving all animals quickly turned into a realization that all God’s creatures were not created equal.
With tears streaming down my face, I raced back to the house. My bloody finger left evidence on the front door knob. My mom’s relaxing mother’s day nap quickly came to a halt as I entered the house sobbing hysterically. I tried my best to explain what happened between snotty breaths. “It bit me!” I shrieked. I couldn’t really explain what had bit me other than the size and color of the creature. Beginning to turn green from the possibilities, mom called the church building looking for dad. Cell phones would have been a nice invention at this point in our lives. Luckily, someone was passing by the phone and graciously searched the pews for dad. As he came to the phone, mom briefly explained the urgent need for him to come home immediately.
Dad came quickly while mom called the emergency room looking for guidance with the few details I had given. The nurse explained that it would best to collect the specimen and bring me in for a rabies shot. Looking for evidence, dad found the culprit struggling to stay alive in the neighbor’s yard. B.G. had played a little too hard with the animal and left it lingering for life. Dad slipped the perpetrator into a wire cage and brought it back over to the house. “It’s a rat,” he bluntly informed us. Mom looked as though she would lose her mother’s day cake at any moment. Dad gestured for mom to hold the cage while he headed towards the drivers side. Mom, with her hatred for rodents beaming, strongly suggested he hold the rat while she drove.
I didn’t have to wait long in the E.R. The nurse gave me a rabies shot and bandaged my finger while the villain was taken away to the lab. Fortunately to satisfy my desire for retribution, the rat died. Unfortunately for those looking after my medical well being, the rat died. Apparently a dead animal could not be tested for rabies in their local labs and would have to be sent away for a costly examination elsewhere.
The following day, struggling to get in contact with my dad, the animal control officer came to the school building where he taught math. The officer came to the classroom door in uniform and pulled my dad out of his lecture to inform him of the current situation. Meanwhile his students’ eyes were glued to the door expecting dad to be taken away in handcuffs at any moment.
“The rat died,” he solemnly stated. Baffled, my dad looked at the officer wondering how this news justified pulling him out of class. As he further explained the situation and the cost involved with shipping the rat off for testing, he also explained that there has never been a case of a rat with rabies in the history of Oklahoma
I went to school the next day beaming with delight. Boy did I have a story for show and tell! By the way, I’ve never been officially tested for rabies, but if you see me frothing at the mouth - you’ll know why.
1 comments:
That is by far the best story that I've read in awhile. And since it's not fiction, it makes it even better! I'm glad that you survived with all fingers in tact and that you haven't gotten the urge to bite anyone else yet :)
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