So What Did You Do With Your Sunday Morning Part II

I couldn't believe that Charles was going to shoot the cat...and then I listened to Max go "raon raon" a couple more times and thought that maybe he was right.

I had visions of the cat bleeding out in my vents, or maybe had a broken leg or was severely hurt in some way. What if he went ape shit when we got him out? What if we couldn't get him in the cat carrier to take him to the vet? What if he died while he was in there?

I kept calling and calling and he kept calling back.....Charles made a pot of coffee....Lauren came out of her room "Mom, the cat woke up Connor." and then it struck her that mom shouldn't be on her hands and knees in the den calling to a cat thru the vents. "What's going on?"

"Max is caught in the vents hon." she started tearing up and freaking out.

"None of that hon. He's okay, he's just trapped and we have to figure out a way to get him out." she started working herself up in to a frenzy, face stretched in the pre-panice grimace.

"Lauren, get a hold of yourself. He's not hurt honey. He's okay. We just have to figure out a way to get him out is all." She calmed down and peered down in the vent and called to Max....Charles sipped at his coffee and looked at me over the rim of the cup....the baby started crying.

"Lauren, could you go amuse Connor for a bit honey until we get the cat out?"

"Okay" and she was gone. As soon as Connor's door closed Charles said "There's really something wrong with him. I've never heard a cat meow like that unless he's hurt." I nodded my head in agreement with him.

I needed to get him out of there quick. I looked down in the vent, I still couldn't see him. I thought about sticking my hand down there and waving my fingers around a bit so he could see where to come out at...but didn't want him to attack me if he was in pain...but I couldn't think of anything better...so I stuck my hand down the vent and waved my fingers a bit and prayed for the best.

He didn't attack me, but I could hear him coming closer. "Go load the gun honey" I said. If he was really hurt, I didn't want him to suffer....we live 30 minutes away from the nearest vet (which was closed)..and 45 mins away from the nearest animal hospital and that doesn't include catching him and loading him in the cat carrier.

Max's head popped up the vent and he looked at me and Raoned raoned for all he was worth. He didn't look hurt from what I could see but the rest of his body was still in the duct...I couldn't get a good look. His back legs were twisted at an odd angle and I was terrified that he had broken his back. He went back in the vents and turned around, dragging his hind legs behind him. They weren't moving.

Charles emerged with the gun, and I pushed the cat carrier to the side. If his back was broken, there wasn't going to be any need for it. I grabbed some towels and laid them out to wrap him in and some thick leather gloves to keep my hands from being gouged with his claws.

I called to him and his head popped up once more. I tried my luck again and patted the carpet next to his head to encourage him to come out. I could see him trying to pull himself up. I petted him on the head and he paused for a moment. I tried to give him some comfort and he seemed to be soaking it in. I looked at Charles, he looked at me..."Are the other cats in the house?" "Yeah" I said quietly, and Charles slipped out the back door. I looked back at Max and he quietly MEOWED.

I felt like the biggest asshole in the world. I think Max knew what was going on. I think he knew we were going to shoot him.

I tried to slip my hands under his front legs and help him out, but he didn't like that...he never scratched me though.

Charles came back inside and Max finally got his front legs out of the the vent with his paws just resting on the edge of the carpet...then I saw his back leg move...just one, and I prayed that maybe his back wasn't broken....maybe he just didn't have enough room to move.

To be continued............