Chapter 55

Think of the worms cats can get ... ready? Yup ... every one of those and a few Doc Sandra had never even heard of, let alone seen. Photos for the Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association, and the Veterinary Practice News along with notifications sent to The Centers for Disease Control, were faxed every time something new popped out of the shit.

The day came when Kitty was clean.

‘That was awful,’ she thought. ‘Feed me!’

“Lets go see Sandra first,” I said, “She probably knows.”

Kitty weighed in at 7 pounds ... thin as a rail from a split rail fence.

The two had quite the quiet conversation. When they were done confering, Sandy came out carrying a limp Kitty.

“We decided,” she said. “Cold boiled chicken thighs, boned. Cold broiled beef, thoroughly cooked and chilled pork liver. Stick it in a blender and puree it. At six months we’ll see about solid food. She is extremely thin and we want to build her up gently. You know those bodybuilders protein shakes?”

I nodded.

“Put a couple of ounces in the blender. NOT chocolate ... plain.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Keep a full water dish ... this dishrag is going to be thirsty.”

She gazed fondly at Kitty, “You, young lady, have put my practice on the map. Thank you.”

She put her down. Kitty twined her legs, purring loudly.

She turned to me, “Fifty bucks ... pay at the desk.”

“Are you sure... $50 is pretty cheap.”

“At the desk.”

“How about all the times I brought those specimens in. Sandra ... I have oodles of money.”

“I hear you have a sauna.”

“I do,” it dawned. “Any time. Any time at all.”

“I’ll do that ... and a ride in that monster airplane.”

“Saturday ... make it Saturday. We’ll fly down to the coast and I’ll show you a good time.”

I did ... mostly upside down. She didn’t get sick.

Later, in the sauna; “Ooo ... that was fun!” She said. “Easily the equal of most rollercoasters.”

Doctor Sandra became a regular.

Then she found out about the ultralites.

So...

“OW!”

I looked. “That is for sure going to leave a bruise.”

“How did you manage this alone?” She was halfway done with her Nieuport 17.

And I presented my hands. Fairly soon it was the number of stitches and how many times those stitches crisscrossed each other.

I said, “It’s not a contest. You’re only half done. I had too many places that I couldn’t wear gloves. Fiddly things too damn hard to get at ... and those surgical gloves tear too easy. This aluminum is sharp ... but these aircraft don’t shed wings in a dive ... they don’t come apart if a wire breaks ... or some damn Fokker shoots and cuts a control wire ... and no wood splinters. Brads and spruce. Copper brads ... hand nailed into structural spruce. If you have a bad day, you can stop ... the people during the Great War ... nope. The wife was a bitch this morning ... it’s going to get covered with nitrated varnish, dope ... nobody will know.

“I’m not saying you won’t crash ... but you’ll get killed driving here before you die in one of these.”

“Wanna take a break?”

“Doing?”

“I bought a two seat trainer. How many hours do you have?”

“What kind?”

“What kind what?”

“Two seater.”

“Naval Aircraft Factory N3N ... the Yellow Peril.”

“Isn’t that hard to fly?”

“Nope ... flying is great.”

“Why?”

“Is it called the Peril?” I grinned, “It is very unforgiving.”

That produced a puzzled look ... then...

“Ah ... landing...”

“And taking off.” I said, “Marginal pilots hated the aircraft. It showed their faults and washed out bad ones.”

“Six ... I have six hours.”

The ‘in real airplanes’ was left unsaid.

“How many including ultralites?”

“Sixty five.”

“Good enough.” I added, “Don’t forget your flight suit. It’s cold up there.”

“Cold would feel great.”

The present temp was 4oc (104f ) with humidity approching 100%. It had been unseasonably warm for late October. It’ll most likely storm later this week.