33 years ago yesterday Judy Birdsong woke me up with this message: “I have some good news and some bad news.”
She was a week overdue, and I had slept in the guest room to avoid the ocean swells generated by our waterbed when she turned over or got out of bed to use the toilet.
She was smiling, so I knew the bad news couldn’t be all that bad. “Okay, let’s have it,” I said.
“The good news is that I’m in labor. The bad news is that Jack’s killed a neighbor’s cat.”
Jack was a springer spaniel, very agile, adept at killing cats, squirrels, and raccoons. This was when we lived in Rantowles off Chaplin’s Landing Road in our first bought home, a ranch style three bedroom brick house overlooking Log Bridge Creek. Judy had taken Jack for a walk through the woods, and he had bolted and snagged and dispatched a cat.
Judy explained where the crime had occurred, on the corner of the adjacent street, Burrow Pit Road. So I went to deliver the news to the cat’s owner, retracing Judy’s steps through the woods. When I reached the house, I encountered a couple of fossilized automobiles, you know, the kind with four flat tires. The good news was the place was crawling with cats.
I went up and knocked on the front door. And older lady opened up and greeted me.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but my dog killed one of your cats.”
She actually chuckled. I’m not making this up. “Oh, don’t worry about that, honey,” she said. “That’s just human nature when it comes to dogs and cats.”
So that was that. I hightailed it home and got into the Lamaze mode of timing contractions. Harrison was born the next morning in the wee hours.
Time flies, but actually it doesn’t seem like yesterday at all. It seems like a hundred years ago.