In the wee hours last Thursday, we returned from a wonderfully carefree vacation in Guatemala, Honduras, and Florida. We climbed Mayan ruins (Yaxha, Tikal, Coban) lacking OSHA standard safety guards to determine our fate on our upcoming wedding anniversary, 12/21/12 (all is well, no more trouble than the millenium).
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| Ancient blood stains at Tikal foretell kitchen mishap |
We skirted volcanoes, earthquakes, and hurricanes. We drove narrow high mountain swtichbacks and boated the deepest lake in Central America, Lake Atitlan. Drug cartels, machine guns, even pickpockets stayed their distance. In Florida, we kayaked past turtle and alligator, then flew safely home to California through the Pineapple Express.
Later that morning, Bill noticed one of the many neighborhood cats "belonging" to the local cat hoarder. The cat walked along the top of our fence, then dropped down on the other side into a snarl of blackberry vines where it was snared. Bill checked on the unfortunate cat twenty minutes later and was still struggling for freedom. "I'm going over," Bill said, and the little voice in his head told to wear gloves, so he donned a thin pair. Bill carefully held the back of the cat's head while he wrestled the vines away and freed the cat. The cat turned quickly to thank Bill with a very passionite bite.
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| Bill scales steep temple pyramid built by Mayans millennia ago. |
Bill, not one to complain or bother with minor injuries, immediately decided the doctor was needed on this one. The doctor treated the wound, prescribed antibiotics, and contacted Animal Control. "You have up to one week. If you can catch the cat and turn it into Animal Control, they will determine if it has rabies. If you can't prove the cat doesn't have rabies, you must have a series of rabies shots."
We know that these cats who are never spayed or neutered, have also never had rabies shots. And for catching the black and white tuxedo cat? We don't even know how many tuxedo cats there are! For his kindness, Bill must pay the price. Rabies shots required.
You might wonder why Bill didn't pay better attention to the little voice in his head and select a pair of thicker leather gloves? I don't. That evening, I needed to split two frozen salmon burgers separated by that thin piece of waxpaper. As I reached for the butcher knife, the little voice in my head said, "Don't use the butcher knife, you could lose your thumb." So I selected a smaller paring knife, stabbed the blade between the burgers and through (not just into, but through) my thumb, pulled it out, and called for Bill. Dr Shearer poured on hydrogen peroxide, held up my thumb and said, "You better go get stitches."
"Forget it. Just bind it up and let's have dinner." And so we ended our first day home. Maybe not Safely Home, but home anyway.
