"Aunt Lisa's Cat"

Whenever my family and I head North to the Valley of the Great Salt Lake, we are obliged to stay with the Jackson family of Provo. Uncle Wade and Aunt Lisa are gracious hosts, and we adore their children and extended family. The fact is, Aunt Lisa is my wife's twin sister, so all other lodging options are moot. To be sure, if I opted to stay elsewhere, my wife and children would desert me for the comfort and companionship of the Jacksons. Since I am all about family, and the Jackson's generously tolerate my presence, this is where we unload the van.

On this particular trip we were in Provo to support our daughter Alyssa, who was participating in the Brigham Young University Invitational Volleyball Tournament for Young Girls of Superior Intelligence, Athletic Ability and Good Looks. Okay, okay, I admit that is not really the tournament name; I may have been exaggerating a bit. I can say, in total honesty, however, that when the "Uno Mas" team took the floor, they took it with all of the aforementioned, totally positive qualities and refined social graces a proud group of parents can hope for. Superior coaching, plenty of faith, determination and a fire in their hearts brought the girls to a very respectable second place finish. It was fun and exciting to witness their efforts, and see the girls grow in skill and confidence.

The trip was mostly positive, the only negative aspect revolved around a misunderstanding with the cat of the house. Aunt Lisa's cat has a bad attitude. I am sure it has something to do with the way Uncle Wade and Keegan antagonize it. I was but an innocent bystander, caught up in an animal's frustration with the world of humans. The cat's name is Sabre, and I believe her to be a direct descendant of a saber tooth tiger or, if possible, a Tyrannosaurus Rex. She is nervous, jumpy and irritable to say the least; quick to fits of rage and aggression even if only slightly provoked. Looking back at my personal altercation with the beast causes me to assume she is mentally unstable as well.

It all began rather innocently, in the wee hours of the morning. I was revived from a deep sleep by a strong urge to get to the lavatory. Rising groggily, I stubbed my toe on the suitcase at the end of the bed and became tangled in the clothes our kids left lying on the floor. Shaking loose the apparel, I found the hall and felt my way to the bathroom. I entered, closed the door and refrained from turning on the light. I was hoping to maintain as much of the sleep mode as I possibly could. This is where things began to go terribly wrong.

As I reached down to lift the lid of the commode, I heard an ominous guttural growl of warning and then a harsh hiss. I withdrew, knowing instantly that Sabre was parked there and was reluctant to be dethroned. Unfortunately, I was rather in a hurry and in no mood to deal with a feisty feline. With my left hand I reached down to swat the cat away from my much needed basin of relief. With my right hand, I lifted the toilet seat. Instantly Sabre locked onto my left hand with four sets of claws and sank her sharp teeth teeth into the soft tissue of my hand between my thumb and forefinger. I lurched backwards, thrashing wildly until my calves connected with the unmoving edge of the tub, at which time I fell hard into the back wall and plopped into about six inches of tepid water left there by my sweet daughter McKale earlier that evening.

Sabre was working my hand over in rather a harsh manner, and I was struggling to remove her and my saturated derrière from the tub. I struggled to a nearly standing position while trying to release the fireball from my hand and wrist. At this point, my bare feet slipped on the wet tile, and I lunged forward in an attempt to stop myself from falling. I hit my knees, and my mauled left hand, with cat still attached, plunged into the toilet bowl, causing the lid to slap down on my forearm. Still trying to get my balance, I brought my right hand around to brace myself on the tank and inadvertantly flushed the toilet.

There was an explosion of wet cat and toilet water as Sabre blew the lid off of the commode. I was at least free from Sabre's grasp and both of us were fired up and ready for battle. I jumped to my feet and began to circle the shadowy creature looking for an opening to finish her off. All of a sudden the bathroom door slid open and a blinding light blinked on. There in the door stood my son Spenser with a look of wonder on his youthful face. Sabre took the opportunity to exit the room, backing out slowly hissing and spitting the whole time. Spenser took in the scene of me standing there breathing hard, soaking wet and bleeding slightly. He smiled broadly, shook his head, turned out the light, closed the door and returned to bed.

The next day I watched Alyssa and her teammates lose their first game to a mean green machine from Montana in the first round. After that they became inspired. I mean to tell you they played volleyball like they were born to it; they played as a team, they were fired up and ready for battle. In many instances "Uno Mas" was out gunned, had a height disadvantage and may not have had the depth of talent their opponents had. What they did have was heart, desire and a imaginative, supportive coach to back them up. I saw teams standing around in shock after being put down. They were bathed in perspiration, out of breath, battered and beaten, amazed at what had just happened . . . I could relate!

Sincerely,
Barry