Entrails & More
I tell my bud to go grab school things, and out the door we went a-flying.
I locked our door, and turned around to open our security gate, when I was overcome with the sensation I get when we experience earthquakes here in San Francisco. It’s like my body understands before my brain can process that something is… different. My balance felt wonky, and I remember clear as day thinking that it must be a big one to come on so strong and suddenly. After another millisecond passed though, I realized it wasn’t an earthquake, though something was certainly off… it was then I pulled the sensation from my muscle memory bank file labeled, “pet caregiver of fifteen+ years”. My friends, the sensation was one of sliding across an unexpected pile of shit.
I have gone back and watched our security camera video no less than twenty times. It’s funny now, as I watch yesterday’s version of myself go slip-slidding across what was a tiny pile of yuck that I managed to extend quite a distance, including but not limited to all over my brand new shoes that were on their debut outing.
As I watch myself on the video, I bend over to inspect what I am suspecting is shit, and I view myself screaming, “but there is a fucking foot in here! and a pile of organs! wait, is that shit or blood, what is happening right now?!” My kid is obviously confused and concerned, and is asking me if they should be afraid or not. I am so thrown that I say something about how everything will be alright, I just need to figure out what’s going on, AND clean this mess up before it’s gets tracked around the entryway even more. I spend the next ten minutes gagging and almost vomiting while Miles does our family trick of reminding me to think of ice-cold icebergs and mint and all the things that help me visualize my stomach not revolting and spewing it’s contents forth for all to see. At this point, I have texted Anne to ask her if she happened to forget to mention there was a pile of shit and a pile of entrails at our threshold and she chimes in on our security doorbell. She assures me nothing was there when she left then calmly talks to Miles while I stand in the garage and gag-clean my new shoes. I wiped an actual severed rodent foot from between the cracks, so needless to say those kicks have already received my custom Knochelmann treatment of getting royally fucked up right-quick on my watch.
We never figured out where the mess originated from, but, due to it’s location on our front mat that a security door blocks the way of + a camera that caught no movement, we suspect a neighborhood cat left us a “treat”. I don’t know what the lesson is here. Can you even pull a noteworthy nugget of reasoning to help process that whole experience? Oh well. I guess somedays you’re the rodent, and some days you’re the human sliding on their entrails.
Pics of rando foot and entrail packet below, so if you’ve got a weak tummmmmmmy, stop scrolling… now.
I mean it ;)
