A Terrible Screaming I

Opening Day is always hell.

Traffic around Fenway coagulates and freezes solid as cars pour in. The sidewalks and parking lots are jammed with all sorts of people wearing Red Sox gear. Flagmen stand in the street, waving cars towards their parking lots at exorbitant rates.

I left early, so as to catch the early shuttle. It never showed. When the next shuttle showed up, it seemed likely that I'd miss my train. I'll be honest: I was pissed off, probably more so than the situation called for.

The shuttle crawled along. It seemed to take forever. But as we passed in front of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, the ground began to shake. We all looked frantically around as a roar of raw sound like nothing I've ever heard before screamed over our heads.

I looked out the window as four military jets in close formation flew very fast and very low, right over our heads. And at that moment I felt it in my bones: I was absolutely helpless. This was a force that no human being could stand against. If the people in those jets wanted me dead, I was dead.

And it occurred to me that living under a threat like that every day must change people in a very fundamental way. How the people in Iraq and Afghanistan must hate us!

A Terrible Screaming I

Opening Day is always hell.

Traffic around Fenway coagulates and freezes solid as cars pour in. The sidewalks and parking lots are jammed with all sorts of people wearing Red Sox gear. Flagmen stand in the street, waving cars towards their parking lots at exorbitant rates.

I left early, so as to catch the early shuttle. It never showed. When the next shuttle showed up, it seemed likely that I'd miss my train. I'll be honest: I was pissed off, probably more so than the situation called for.

The shuttle crawled along. It seemed to take forever. But as we passed in front of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, the ground began to shake. We all looked frantically around as a roar of raw sound like nothing I've ever heard before screamed over our heads.

I looked out the window as four military jets in close formation flew very fast and very low, right over our heads. And at that moment I felt it in my bones: I was absolutely helpless. This was a force that no human being could stand against. If the people in those jets wanted me dead, I was dead.

And it occurred to me that living under a threat like that every day must change people in a very fundamental way. How the people in Iraq and Afghanistan must hate us!

A Terrible Screaming II

We had a nice dinner tonight. There was a fundraiser at Chelos, a local family restaurant; 15-20% of the check for anyone coming in tonight with a special ticket would go to Sebastian's cub scout pack.

The place was filled with people we knew. It was a nice feeling.

When we got home, Teri and Sebastian went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. I went back out to the car to get a drawing that Sebastian had made; he wanted it. When I came to the back door, though, I heard a strange sound. What was it? It almost sounded like a cat screaming. Or was it Sebastian, imitating a cat scream? He does imitations sometimes. But if this was him, his skill was reaching new heights.

I opened the door and went in. The screaming became louder. I looked towards the dining room, and saw something terrible.

Widget, our new kitten (well, he's a bit large to be called a kitten now) had somehow gotten trapped between the back slats of one of the dining-room chairs. He was hanging sideways, flailing about in agony. The space between the slats was less than three inches across where he was. It looked like it was cutting him in two, just above his hind legs. Since two thirds of his body was hanging unsupported, he was helpless...and screaming.

I ran over and grabbed him, lifting him. He tried to sink his teeth into my hand; somehow I had expected that, and managed to turn my hand enough to make it a gash rather than a piercing. I tried to gently see if I could move him in either direction - how had he gotten into this fix? - but he was stuck. And still screaming. I thought of the large snips in the back shed that I've used to cut branches and saplings; could it cut through the slats? Would Widget live long enough for someone to get it and let me snip it?

The bathroom door opened. Teri rushed out and grabbed Widget too. She was thinking better than I was; "Lift him!" she said. The space between the slats was wider at the top of the chair, although the in-and-out design didn't make that immediately obvious to me. We lifted, and got him out. He disappeared.

Sebastian was very upset and scared. He said he was going to throw up. He didn't, but Teri and I didn't have much time to console him; we needed to find Widget. It seemed entirely possible that he was dying, although the thought crossed my mind that he was A) young and B) a cat - and therefore doubly hard to kill.

I searched the basement. Teri and Sebastian searched upstairs. When we met in the dining room, Widget was there.

He seemed fine. And he's done some climbing, running, and jumping since then. He still seems fine.

I got Sebastian into bed, and finished reading Doctor Dolittle Returns to him. He calmed down and fell asleep.

And that was our day.

A Terrible Screaming II

We had a nice dinner tonight. There was a fundraiser at Chelos, a local family restaurant; 15-20% of the check for anyone coming in tonight with a special ticket would go to Sebastian's cub scout pack.

The place was filled with people we knew. It was a nice feeling.

When we got home, Teri and Sebastian went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. I went back out to the car to get a drawing that Sebastian had made; he wanted it. When I came to the back door, though, I heard a strange sound. What was it? It almost sounded like a cat screaming. Or was it Sebastian, imitating a cat scream? He does imitations sometimes. But if this was him, his skill was reaching new heights.

I opened the door and went in. The screaming became louder. I looked towards the dining room, and saw something terrible.

Widget, our new kitten (well, he's a bit large to be called a kitten now) had somehow gotten trapped between the back slats of one of the dining-room chairs. He was hanging sideways, flailing about in agony. The space between the slats was less than three inches across where he was. It looked like it was cutting him in two, just above his hind legs. Since two thirds of his body was hanging unsupported, he was helpless...and screaming.

I ran over and grabbed him, lifting him. He tried to sink his teeth into my hand; somehow I had expected that, and managed to turn my hand enough to make it a gash rather than a piercing. I tried to gently see if I could move him in either direction - how had he gotten into this fix? - but he was stuck. And still screaming. I thought of the large snips in the back shed that I've used to cut branches and saplings; could it cut through the slats? Would Widget live long enough for someone to get it and let me snip it?

The bathroom door opened. Teri rushed out and grabbed Widget too. She was thinking better than I was; "Lift him!" she said. The space between the slats was wider at the top of the chair, although the in-and-out design didn't make that immediately obvious to me. We lifted, and got him out. He disappeared.

Sebastian was very upset and scared. He said he was going to throw up. He didn't, but Teri and I didn't have much time to console him; we needed to find Widget. It seemed entirely possible that he was dying, although the thought crossed my mind that he was A) young and B) a cat - and therefore doubly hard to kill.

I searched the basement. Teri and Sebastian searched upstairs. When we met in the dining room, Widget was there.

He seemed fine. And he's done some climbing, running, and jumping since then. He still seems fine.

I got Sebastian into bed, and finished reading Doctor Dolittle Returns to him. He calmed down and fell asleep.

And that was our day.