Firemen Get The Most Ass

Years ago, before I was too old and bitter to think of myself as anything but the old and bitter person I had became, I told whoever would listen that I would grow up to be a fireman. I was around three at the time, dreaming of axes, donning helmets, rushing to disasters in a mad dash with sirens wailing and dalmatians howling.

I hoped to climb extended ladders up to tall buildings and smash the hell out of the glass windows to save whoever was inside, it wouldn’t matter who. I would be a firefighter and firefighters saved the lives of those in peril no matter their age, sex, or creed. All you had to do was act heroically.

This memory came back to when I was visiting my parents a few months ago and a little black cat got himself stuck in the mulberry tree in front of their house. My niece and nephew were there as well, and when I went out front and saw the kitten up in the tree and my little nephew at the base of it looking up concerned I said: “Don’t worry about him, he’s a cat. He’ll come down.”

We went inside, thinking our presence was what was keeping the little cat in his perch. Over an hour later we returned to the tree and there he still sat, silent and black and unmoving.

This perplexed me. I went to the garage and dragged my father’s old rickety ladder to the front yard so I could have a closer look. The ground around the tree was rooted and uneven and I found myself swaying a bit as I climbed the ladder, from both my clumsy placing of the ladder’s legs and the three or four beers I had drunk that afternoon.  

“Come here buddy. Come on down, let’s go. Easy enough,” I said to the cat.

I reached up, extending myself out from the tip top of the ladder, one hand stretched up towards the little black thing above me, the other gripping a mulberry limb.

“You alright buddy? You okay?”

The cat stared down at me, silent, completely still.

“What’s wrong, huh? What’s the problem?”

The little wet eyes just stared, wide and unblinking. I was sweating and I could feel my nephew looking up at us.

“Come on you little asshole, let’s go. Let’s get out of the God damned tree huh? What’s the problem?”

It was then that I got close enough to see that there indeed was a problem. The cat wasn’t simply holding onto a limb scared out of his wits, but had somehow got himself stuck between two limbs. He was completely wedged, furry undercarriage and one little paw hanging below the two tree limbs, the rest of him above.

I climbed down the ladder and explained the situation to my four year old nephew.

“Maybe we should call a fireman,” he said.

The little boy looked up at me and I realized this kid thought his uncle was some sorry ass who couldn’t come through when a little kitten’s life was on the line. How God damned embarrassing would it be to have a group of fireman drive up in the red truck and save a kitty in a tree?

I had known someone working to be a firefighter, a friend of a friend, and I hadn’t really warmed up to him. I thought it was interesting that he was getting into the field and had asked him about it at a bar one night.

“There’s hella school but firemen get the most ass,” he said and sipped his Redbull and vodka

I remember thinking it was probably true. Kids love firefighters, animals love firefighters, why not attractive women as well? Some six months later that same guy got into a situation where a cab driver accused him of attacking and beating him up. True or not the guy was denied the right to become a firefighter due to his record and is probably right now searching out an alternative means to “get the most ass”.

If a douche like that could almost become a firefighter than I could at least act like one. All it took was guts. I told my nephew there would be no need to call the fire department which made him look as sad and dejected as the cat 20 feet above us, then I went and dug some gloves up out of the garage.

I climbed the ladder and stretched out again from the tip top, reaching as far as I could. The cat stared down, silent and still as ever. Even fully extended I could barely touch him. I gripped a limb, reminding myself that I wanted my nephew’s respect for at least five more years, and leaned out into the air so I could push up into the little cat’s belly.

I gave him two firm pokes and he barely budged. He had so firmly wedged his tiny cat body between the limbs it would take a real shove. I leaned out again and thought about the fact that I could very well fall and break my neck and how that would affect my nephew.

I shoved a couple times and the suction between the limbs began to let go allowing the little furry body to begin to pop loose. I noticed the little bastard was starting to dig into the tree with his claws. If he wasn’t scared before he was absolutely terrified now.

“I’m worried he’s going to fall,” I yelled down to my nephew.

“He’ll land on his feet,” the boy said.

I wasn’t so sure. I started pushing and didn’t stop until I had forced the cat’s whole body from between the limbs. It was just his claws keeping him in the tree now but I wasn’t going to let up and give him a chance to fall back in the wedge. I reached out into space, trying to get a firm grip on him. He batted at me then jumped free, flying wild through the air. He slashed at three or four limbs on his way down, somersaulting through space until bang, like a shot he was on the ground running to the safety of the orchard across the road.

I climbed down, drenched with sweat and shaking a bit.

“He landed on his feet,” my nephew said.

“Yeah, I told you we didn’t need a fireman. We can handle it.”

The boy nodded absently before turning and entering the house, off to find his toy fire truck.

-November 20, 2012