Hey, Guys and Gals.
I hope you all have been finding ways to humoring yourselves while I type up chapters. It's slow going, but it's getting there. For now, I have this chapter ready to be read.
Still, without further ado, Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. .gnihton nwo I
Warning: Slight cursing.
Lead
Even years afterwards, I still find wonder how I didn't get pulled over for speeding.
I had taken an hour drive, and shortened it to thirty-five minutes. Either I was lucky or someone up high was watching out for me. I still believe in the former than the latter, but it left me sitting in an uncomfortable waiting room with a breathing lap-warmer as I waited for the results of the surgery.
Yeah, that's right: surgery. After a few quick scans, the white cat was rushed to the operating table.
One of the doctors had showed me the x-rays performed on the white cat. It turned out that her misshapen left foreleg was actually broken in two places along with two of her ribs. For her legs, they were planning to drill into the bone and use metal plates to keep the bone aligned to heal better. Put a cast on it and the leg should heal swimmingly. I don't really know what they did with her ribs or with her other injuries.
I'll admit that I didn't pay attention as much as I should have: My bad. I would have paid attention more, but I stopped listening after I heard the word 'bullet.'
Yep: bullet.
Do you remember when I said about those puncture wounds on the feline's back legs? Well, I was wrong. It wasn't puncture wound from some dog's bite. It was a fucking bullet wound. As in someone had the balls to shot at a cat. My cat. My family cat.
That was what made me feel so cold. Sitting there, in a too clean and too bright room, I was trying. Trying my hardest to keep my hands from shaking. Trying my hardest to keep myself from crying. Trying my hardest to stop reliving the moment when the doctor showed me those bright white dots in the feline's x-ray and explained what they were.
It was a fucking lead bullet. Buck-shot from a shotgun.
Give me wild dogs and I'll fight them. Give me a fire and I'll put it out. Point a gun at me and I'll break down in tears. And before you ask, no: I didn't have a horrific experience with guns, like some rip off of Bruce Wayne. I have seen a real gun, and even handled at least a paintball gun. But handling a real gun is something I don't want to do. Ever.
Guns were weapons.
Weapons kill.
I will have no part of it.
End. Of. Discussion. For. Me.
The only reason I was somewhat calm now was because of Marshmallow. The internet says some stupid stuff sometimes, but animals really do calm people down. At least, petting Marshmallow was helping me think clearly as I waited. I tried to remember as many pieces of information about my neighbors and about the home I lived in for the past few months.
My closest (and only) neighbors were the ones who owned the farmland next door, but I should explain some more. It was more of an orchard than a real farm. It was a family owned place with the matriarch ruling over that everyone called Grandmother Willow. I've personally met her a few good times just by taking my walks close to her property. All of my meetings with her just gave me one conclusion: She was a pretty stern old woman whenever she wanted to be, but could be as accommodating as she was strong.
I learned that as soon as I learned that she too carried a few firearms. They were handguns and a rifle, so it could not have shot the buck-shot the doctors were trying to get out of the feline. Also, she was responsible about the power she held in her hands, so she wouldn't be reckless enough to shoot a domesticated cat, irresponsible enough to not teach her family the dangers, or uncaring enough to leave the rifle in the reach of everyone in her household.
Even I had to admit that her gun vault was rather impressive.
The woods behind my home were pretty extensive. It was as if my home was at the edge of a cul-de-sac, and the woods encircled us. It's pretty much all uninterrupted woodland all the way up to the mountains that create the little valley that my family lives in. The exceptions are a few roadways, but even those don't post much of a disturbance. They're the kind that moves with the earth, instead of cutting through, but it's still there. Would a real hunter use that type of terrane for hunting?
And the most important question of all: what type of person does not see a pure white cat? Colorblind or not, white sticks out from the dead-brown colors of late Fall.
It was clear that this was in no way any sort of accident. Someone took aim and tried to kill a part of my family. The realization made the cold feeling sink even deeper inside me.
The buzzing of my phone snapped me out of my funk as I look to see who was calling me. Barely looking at the screen, I dimly realize that it was a Snapchat call before I picked it up but stayed silent. I really wasn't in the mood for chit-chat.
"Hey, Princess." The voice was deep, soft, and very familiar to my ears. Tilting the phone, I look to see that my caller was Kristoff. The moment I heard his voice and saw his face, my body relaxed. So much so that I only realized how terribly tense I was until then. And how tired I was.
"Hey, Kris."
"The boys are looking for you. You're okay?"
"Not really." Kristoff could hear the strain in my voice as easily as I could, so I didn't even bother to try and make up some story.
"Marshmallow's gone."
"No, he's okay. I'm at the animal clinic with him," I say. I move my phone down to expose the fluff of black-and-white on my lap. Meanwhile, Marshmallow had his head tilted to the side, probably wondering why Kristoff was suddenly 2-D and small upon my screen. I was going to explain a bit more until I hear a bit of a gurgling coo coming from the speakers of my phone.
"Hey, little man. You wanna talk with Mami? …Okay, okay. Here, you go."
Throughout the exchange, I smiled. Kristoff truly was the only man I could ever love. Best friend, loving husband, and beautiful father all rolled into one great guy, and it was moments like these that made me see how lucky I was. Especially when I see a bleary-eyed Elijah come to the screen.
In as soft a voice as I could manage, I cooed and kissed Elijah through the phone. I laughed at how Elijah adopted the same look as Marshmallow: head tilted and eyes wide. Probably for the same reasons, too.
The lightheartedness of the call almost made me cry. For the past few hours, I was locked in my own head with bullets and blood on my mind. Even if I didn't notice it before, I clearly had to think about something else. Anything else. For now, I focused on my Elijah's little squeaks and breaths as he tried to reach me through the touchscreen.
It was a while before Kristoff showed up in the screen again, but I could still see Elijah as he laid back in his stroller with a bottle of baby formula being held by Kristoff.
"So, is Marshmallow okay? Did some of his scars open up?"
"No," I say. "I found the mama cat outside. She's badly hurt, Kristoff. The doctors are performing surgery."
"Surgery? That fast?"
Yeah, I was confused too when I first heard it. The surgery being started so quickly after I brought the injured feline in was a bit out of the blue, since it usually needs a lot of prep work. But usually, pets aren't used for target practice.
Then again, I knew what he was confused about. The last time it was Marshmallow that was injured, and we healed him at home with bandages and peroxide. If he saw the blood on the porch and thought the same, it would be a no-brainer. But what he didn't know that most of the blood was seeping into the ground underneath the stairs.
"Kristoff, she… she's been shot and a few bullets are still in her. I guess they need to remove them as quick as possible to help her heal." Although I try my best to get the worst of the news out of the way, I could still see shock spread across Kristoff's face.
I wondered if I looked like that as the doctor explained the white dots in the x-ray earlier. I shake the errant thought away as I continue talking.
"Kris, please do me a favor and keep the boys and the kittens inside for today? I don't know who could have done this, and I don't want them in danger." Once again, thank god for Saturday and its morning cartoons. They probably haven't even left their rooms.
"Already on it. Anything else you need?" My mind shifts around and picks up back onto my next-door neighbors.
"Can you call Grandmother Willow? If someone is really shooting up animals, they need to keep their own safe." Honestly, I believed that her family pets would be in more danger than my own with them being loose on the property. The orchard had plenty of space for their pets to run around in, including her granddaughter's pet raccoon. Don't ask me how or why she allowed her granddaughter to tame a raccoon: she just does. But I know that a kid who lost their pet would be a heartbroken sight.
The memory of Marshal wrapping a certain bleeding, monochrome cat in his sweater is still fresh to this day.
"Alright, I'll call them after this." He waits for a moment before speaking again. "You'll be okay." He says this in a really soft voice. The kind that he saves only when I need it most and when he's worried about me. Still, I have to at least try to appear positive and not worry him.
"I'll be okay when I find the bastard who did this." I'm joking, of course, but it helps a bit.
"Easy there, feisty pants."
Before I could say anything else, my name gets called out. I look up to see the doctor who was performing the surgery standing a few steps from me. The surgery must be over. Kristoff heard it too, and must have understood.
"Be safe?"
"Never. See ya, Kristoffer." As a response, he sticks his tongue out at me.
As the call ends, I think about how much it has helped me. Looking at my family and away from the chaos that's slammed into me since I woke up has really settled my nerves. Looking down, I appreciate the other calming thing that has been purring in my lap. Picking Marshmallow up and bring him close to my face, I say a very quiet thanks. Despite being in an unfamiliar environment for hours on end, he's just sat in the same position as I petted him and kept myself from freaking out.
The scars that I could feel as I gently scratched and combed his coat with my fingers made me realize how close this family of cats have gotten to my own.
The fearsome Marshmallow (the same one who was purring contently in my arms) really liked being an indoor cat with Marshall pampering him with love and treats. Jack, Po, and Queen were ripping up the house with their limitless energy. Following the trio of fluffy tails was Olaf who loved all three of his 'littler brothers.' Elijah had a new babysitter as a certain adorable Instagram post of him using Marshmallow as a plushy stated to the world. The white mother cat stayed at the edges of the chaotic home, but was still being the best mother she could be. And in the middle of all of the cute chaos was me and Kristoff being the best parents we could be.
And as I'm lead out of the waiting room, I know that I'm going to do my best to protect my family.
AN. Why Does Editing Have To Take So Long? And Why Am I Such A Perfectionist About It? I Even Went Back To Edit My Other Chapters Too!
AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
*Sigh* Oh, well. Nothings perfect. But I did go back and cleaned up my other chapters of this story. It's nothing really noticeable as it's mostly spelling and grammar kind of stuff, but at least I'm finding my updating groove again. If only slightly.
And as always: comments, concerns, and informed critiques are always welcomed. Your patience has been rewarded, vinzgirl. I hope you like this chapter, too.
So, until next time, Au revoir.