My gun was in the bedside nightstand, and I grabbed it and ran into the living room. Alan was writhing on the sofa, Mr. Friskers trying to gnaw off his ear.
I realized I was pointing my gun, relaxed my death grip and set it on the table, and then tried to goad the cat off my ex-husband.
'Bad kitty. Let go of his ear.'
I tugged. Alan screamed.
'Careful, Jack! He's clamped down on cartilage!'
'Hold on. I'll be right back.'
'Hurry! He's chewing!'
I found the catnip mouse under the sofa, and shoved it under Mr. Friskers's nose.
'Easy, cat. Let him go. Let him go.'
The cat went limp, and I pulled him away from Alan and set him on the floor.
'I was just sitting there, and he attacked me. How bad am I bleeding?'
'Bad.'
'Stitches-bad?'
'You're missing about half your ear.'
Alan spun around, alarmed.
'Really?'
'Maybe we can pump the cat's stomach.' I kept my voice neutral. 'We might be able to sew it back on.'
He figured out I was joshing him and threw a sofa cushion at me.
I went to the kitchen and pulled a bunch of paper towels off the roll. Since acquiring Mr. Friskers, I always made sure I had an ample supply.
'It hurts.' Alan had a hand clamped to his ear. He frowned, petulant.
'Oh, quit being a baby. It's nothing.'
'Easy for you to say. For the rest of my life, my sunglasses will be crooked.'
'You'll be fine. If you want, I'll let you borrow some of my earrings.' I dabbed at the blood. 'You have enough holes for six or seven.'
'Funny. What's wrong with that cat, anyway?'
'I haven't been able to figure that out yet. Hold this, here, while I get the rubbing alcohol.'
Alan moaned, and I went off in search of supplies.
A liberal splash of Bactine knocked the ardor out of Alan, and he didn't make another pass at me during the time it took to bandage his ear. I silently thanked Mr. Friskers for the reprieve.
I suggested watching a movie until my mom woke up, and offered Alan a choice of Breakfast at Tiffany's or Royal Wedding, the only two videos I owned. While we debated the various merits of each, the phone rang.
'Jack? Herb. How you feeling?'
'Better,' I said. And I was. 'Calling to check on me?'
'No. We, uh, need you at the office.'
'I thought I was still on medical leave.'
'The leave has been canceled. Direct order from Captain Bains, we need you here yesterday.'
'What's this about, Herb?'
'It's Fuller.'
'Gimme twenty minutes.'
Alan stared at me. I realized this was a micro-encapsulation of our marriage -- me getting a phone call and then running to work.
But we weren't married anymore, so I had nothing to feel guilty about.
'There's an extra set of keys in the little ceramic frog on top of the refrigerator,' I told him. 'Tell Mom she can reach me on my cell.'
I tiptoed into the bedroom and changed into a pantsuit without waking my mother. Rather than fuss with my hair, I tied it back in a short ponytail. I spent all of two minutes on my face, not bothering with foundation or eyeliner.
Alan was sitting on the sofa, facing a TV that wasn't on. I picked up my gun from the table and put it in my holster.
'Be careful.' He didn't turn his head to look at me.
'Will you be here when I get back?'
He met my eyes and cocked his head slightly to the left, as if appraising me.
