3 Mar 2010
Kurt bit me!
Kurt bit me! And it was hard enough to draw blood from my hand. This is only the second time this has happened, the first time being when he was very young and jittery.
I had been feeding him several chocolate-covered espresso beans I was gorging myself on, and he pierced my skin unexpectedly with those sharp incisors of his.
The espresso beans were delicious. They came from my mom in the mail as a birthday present.
But the thing is, I had bought those espresso beans for my dad for Christmas, only three months before.
It was obvious that my mom, in her forgetfulness, unknowingly re-gifted me with a present I had given to them!
A sinking feeling came over me as I began to think of the espresso bean mistake as a faint outward ripple of inner decay. Perhaps it was a sign of incipient dementia and my mother was approaching a steep decline in cognition over the next decade or so. Perhaps I would witness the woman who raised me as her mind dissolves, and merges with oblivion, and she disappears. Perhaps Kurt’s outburst was the end of an unbroken jagged thread leading from my mother’s sickened brain to here, to a painful rat bite on my hand, with two drops of blood seeping out.
But I looked up abruptly and shook off these dark thoughts. Inclining as I do to exaggerate the negative, I had invented a sinister chain, a most-ominous-scenario of events. Maybe there were other explanations, more likely and plausible explanations for why Kurt bit me.
For instance maybe it was the caffeine in all those chocolate-covered espresso beans I was feeding him.
pseudoisaac 