“I’m not, I’m not, I’m not.”
He chopped at me with enough force for the blade to split me in two. Fortunately, it was a foot short, and it sliced the air and bit into my butcher-block cutting board. I had my phone in my hand, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Hatchet long enough to dial. He yanked the saber blade out of the cutting board, and we danced around the island.
Hatchet’s eyes were compressed into black pinpoints, his face was white with rage, and spit flew out of his mouth. “I hate when people say I’m a nut. I hate it. I hate it.”
He lunged across the island, tagging me on the arm with the tip of the saber. My phone flew out of my hand, into the sink, and a bright red line of blood oozed from my elbow to my wrist. I grabbed my arm, stumbled back, and Hatchet continued to come at me, crawling over the island. He raised the saber to strike again, and a blur of striped cat flew through the air in front of me and latched onto Hatchet’s face. It was Cat 7143 holding tight to Hatchet, growling low in his throat, his tail bushed out like a bottlebrush.
Hatchet dropped the saber and batted at Cat. “Get him off!” Hatchet shrieked, his words muffled by fur.
I was dumbstruck. I’d love to say I rose to the occasion, grabbed the saber, and so filled Hatchet with fear that he went to his knees. Truth is, I stood with my mouth open and my feet glued to the floor. Probably, it was only for a moment, but it felt like a lifetime.
Cat climbed to the top of Hatchet’s head, leaving a series of bloody dots where his claws had dug into the sides of Hatchet’s face. Hatchet swatted Cat off his head and ran out the back door into the night.
Cat leaped onto the butcher block and watched Hatchet leave, and when the sound of a car engine catching came through the open back door, Cat relaxed back on his haunches, curled his half-tail around himself, and went into his grooming ritual as if nothing had happened. I closed the door and propped a kitchen chair against it to keep it closed.
“Thanks,” I said to Cat. “That was really brave of you.” I stroked his glossy back and realized he was on my cutting board. “Probably, you shouldn’t be sitting on the board,” I told him.
Cat stopped grooming and looked at me.
“You’re right,” I said. “You can sit wherever you want.”
I wrapped half a roll of paper towels around my arm to keep from bleeding on everything and secured the towels with Scotch tape. I plucked my cell phone out of the soapy sink water and tried to dial Diesel. No luck. The phone was dead. I could call him on my kitchen phone, but I didn’t know his number. It was locked up in the dead cell phone. Blood was beginning to ooze through the toweling on my arm, so I grabbed my purse and went to the front door. I cautiously looked out and measured the distance to my car. I had keys in hand. I stepped out, quickly closed and locked the door, ran to my car, and drove to the hospital in Salem.
______
The whole hospital procedure had taken just a little under an hour. I’d been fortunate to get injured in the lull between rush-hour fender benders and late-night bar brawls. I’d also been fortunate that most of the cut hadn’t required stitches, and I was already up to date on my tetanus shot. I drove the short distance back to my house and found Diesel and Carl standing at the open front door. Carl was looking curious, as always. Diesel was uncharacteristically grim.
“Have you been home long?” I asked Diesel, dragging myself out of my car, suddenly exhausted.
“Only long enough to see the broken door, the blood on the kitchen floor, and the saber. I was about to have Gwen start calling hospitals.”
“I’d explain it all to you, but I’m so tired I can barely stand.”
“My heart stopped beating for a full five minutes when I walked into the kitchen,” he said. “The instant I saw the saber and the broken door, I knew it was Hatchet. If I’d found him before I found you, he’d be dust.”
“I tried to call you, but my phone got dumped in the sink during the scuffle and died.”
“As long as it