Chilean Sea Bass with a side of skunk
When I turned the big 5-0 several decades ago (yikes!), my young magnificent black panther-like cat Stuka made it a memorable day.
I had gotten home from a long night in Trauma ICU in Las Vegas. It was the dead heat of summer and I took up residence in my pitch black bedroom in my comfy waterbed to recover from the exciting life of a dedicated medical professional.
As I recall, I did not have to go back to work that night. I slept the day away, something I still do as a dedicated creature of the night.
When I arose Stuka was at my side with a gleam in his beautiful eyes and my official birthday began with a bang.
I opened the bedroom door and it was like a scene out of an episode of Twilight Zone. You know the one, where on one side of the door it was sunshine and roses and the other a scene of devastating apocalypse reminiscent of no-man’s land in World War I.
Stuka had caught his first pigeon and the hallway was wall to wall feathers and the actual walls were streaked with blood. What remained of the remains were scattered about and it looked like a Willem de Kooning masterpiece.
Happy birthday! Wish I had a handy dandy camera at that time to share the precious moment, but alas that was just before the world-wide proliferation of such devices.
Segue to current date and time. This week I enter my eighth decade on this planet (I hope it has at least another eight decades of life) and I decided to have a bit of a culinary adventure.
Tonight it was an upscale foody restaurant in Moab called Desert Bistro and I had the sea bass. It was very good and it was a special treat to myself.
I came home with the focused desire of getting in my spa under the stars and a very prominent Milky Way and soaking up the beauty of the night. So far so good.
I retired to my now not waterbed bed, read a bit and drifted off to sleep. At around 4 am I shot upright in bed because the room filled with a stench that I have become all to familiar in my new rural life in SE Utah. Ode de Skunk.
This time it was accompanied by a screeching cat obviously in distress. My cat mom nursing instincts kicked in.
Did I mention I was buck naked? Not a visual anyone reading this needs to linger. I grabbed Newt by the scruff of the neck and immediately put him in the confines of the bathroom behind closed doors and began to assess the situation.
His poor eyes were clamped shut and he was crying constantly. No visible wounds were spotted and I immediately began carefully flushing his eyes with H2O and gagging at the same time.
He had taken a direct hit in the face. As I wiped his face I was relieved there were not signs of blood, but he did have copious oral secretions. I finally kept flushing until he could open his eyes and look at the glorious vision of his mom.
Both eyes were clear and normal. This made me breathe a sigh of relief. But I digress. I now returned to my poor kitty and he was at least not screeching anymore.
He could now look at me with eyes wide and was not drooling. The smell was quite prominent on his fur and I knew that I now had to give him a bath in hydrogen peroxide, baking soda and Dawn detergent.
I whipped up the magic mixture and put him in the shower stall and began the deed. He hissed a bit, but did not really try and do me any harm.
I kept a tight hold on his neck and became the alpha cat as we commenced, with the bath being extra careful not get any in his eyes.
It is now an hour and a half since his smelly entrance into the bedroom and he is now purring in my lap as I type this latest entry into my Adventure Series.
I am airing out the cottage and the night is still dark. Think I will head back in the spa and appreciate all that life has to offer even when it is quite smelly.