I'm THAT Jorge...

This story is dedicated to Oreo/Stickers. Don’t you ever cross me.

Yesterday, my wife told me she was going to throw all of my old Atmos shirts away. For anyone unfamiliar, Atmos Energy is the premier natural gas distribution company in the state of Texas, as well as many other states throughout the nation. I was employed there for 2 1/2 years, first as a meter reader and then later on as a service technician. Despite the fact that I spent most of my time melting my face off in the great outdoors and doing heavy manual labor for the last 18 months, there were very few days that I came home hating my job, and I always loved the company.

I didn’t throw a fit over trashing the shirts. I don’t even know why I kept them in the first place. Maybe I subconsciously planned to someday pose as an Atmos employee to get into your home, kill you and kidnap your children. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t a good one and I’m glad to see them go. But seeing the shirts did bring back some wonderful memories that I will always cherish.

Life as a meter reader was often hard. Especially when you read in areas like South Fort Worth (this was my area while with TXU) and Fair Park in Dallas (my area while with Atmos). I am not exaggerating when I tell you that dog attacks were a daily multiple occurrence in those areas and people attacks took place every few weeks.

If you last more than a month or two as a meter reader, it is because you learned how to become aware of your surroundings at all times. You learn to pick up on the smallest of sounds and to differentiate between the ones that merit your attention and don’t. Because of this nifty skill, it was difficult for any man or animal to get the jump on me. Dogs rarely ever went for the surprise attack anyway. They were usually barking ferociously from the moment they charged from 20 yards out. People were certainly a different story. They would follow me and watch to see if they could get me in a more isolated area. Some tried to project where I was going next and wait for me around a corner. Some did take the same approach as the dogs. It never worked out.

I don’t count the people attacks as “muggings”. I don’t know why. Perhaps because none of them ever succeeded. There were several that I would give money to after running them off, but I never had to give up anything against my will. All in all, over a rough total of 17-18 months as a meter reader, I was probably attacked by people around 15 times. All but two were homeless. The two non-homeless attacks make for very interesting stories, as do many of my dog attack encounters, but I’ll save those for another time. This story is about the only time I was attacked by a cat.

Certain areas of Dallas are absolute hellholes. Every city has their own area, right? The place where there are no Home Owners Associations, no government funding to maintain the area, no police activity, and residents that pass on the lawnmower expense in favor of the vicious pit bull purchase. These are the oldest neighborhoods, which means all of the gas meters are in the back yard. Meter accessibility varies from neighborhood to neighborhood, but if you’re lucky enough to have an alley behind the houses, you’re grateful. At least then, you don’t have to jump as many fences. Unfortunately, these alleys are usually the most unkempt of all. Grass and weeds that have grown up as high as my waist, and trees and branches intertwined among each other, creating a maze of branches for me to weave my way through. I ripped more shirts and got more cuts and scrapes in my time as a meter reader than I will probably ever accrue over the rest of my lifetime. The alleys were also covered with trash that people simply threw over their fences instead of taking to the front yard for the garbage trucks to pick up. This, combined with a number of animal carcasses rotting throughout the whole route, usually made for some terrible smells as well.

I wish I was exaggerating.

On this particular November afternoon in 2006, I was dealing with one of these alley ways. I was miserable, climbing through trees and brush that were way over my head. I couldn’t even see the sun. It literally felt like a forest, when in all actuality I was walking between Grand Ave and Clarence St right off of Highways 30 and 45. My consolation was that it was so crowded with brush that I knew no dog would go through the effort of trying to get to me because they would have no escape if I turned out to be too much for them to handle. As I made my way through this alley, I felt like someone or something was watching me. So I stopped where I was and looked around. That was when I saw the bobcat, only five or six feet away.

*Sidenote* Let me teach you a little bit about bobcats before I go on. These bastards aren’t as harmless as some animal lovers would try to have you think they are. Granted, bobcats are very shy and usually run away from us before we ever get a chance to see them. But they HAVE been known to attack people before. Usually, they have to feel cornered or have rabies or something like that, but it happens. And when they do attack, they are worth fearing. They are two or three times larger than a typical house cat, and they have even been known to hunt deer. Having said that, I wouldn’t mind having one as a pet.

*Resuming Story*

Most of what I can tell you about this particular bobcat is information that was given to me by the animal experts I spoke with immediately after the incident. Before telling you what happened, I feel it is only fair for the bobcat that I acknowledge that it later tested positive for rabies (demonic possession for cats, right JonathanWithaJ?) They also tell me they suspect it must have felt trapped in that severely overgrown alley; like it was convinced it had better odds to stand its ground and fight rather than try to run away. Psh. Whatevs.

All I know is, the moment I made eye contact with the bobcat, that thing growled and lunged at me. Almost as if it was instinct, I pulled out my inner Keanu Reeves and fell backwards to make it miss. As the rabid cat flew over my body, I swung around with my left hand, which was holding a retractable antenna.

These antennas were common among readers who worked in areas like mine. They extended out six feet and had a mirror on one end (a lot of the meters were in the yards, facing away from us, so we used the mirrors to read it without having to jump the fence) while the other end was just a blunt, very small point. I always walked with this magic wand in my hand because it was very handy for swinging at people and dogs who needed to be kept at bay, not to mention for helping to move brush that was in the way of meters from a distance.

It must have been sheer adrenaline that enabled me to swing that antenna with enough force to go straight into the bobcat as it flew over my parallel body. I didn’t take the time to figure it out. As soon as I was done falling to the ground, I was back up and kicking the crap out of the wounded bobcat. It took me several seconds to realize that it was dead before I stopped kicking.

I would like to take credit for my remarkable performance in the fight. I had certainly acquired some tremendous skills for fighting animals because of the fact that I was always battling with violent dogs, so I’m sure it did help. But this time around, I was really just ridiculously lucky. I mean, if I hadn’t happened to stab the bobcat on its first lunge at me, it would have been back on me before I had even finished falling. Most people would not have come away from that without a scratch.

I would like to take credit for my courage to stand there and face the creature. But the only reason I didn’t run away was because I couldn’t. Not only did I not have time to run, but even with notice, every step through that alley had to be intentional and cautious. It took me 11 minutes just to walk down four houses’ worth to the end of the alley after that, without stopping to read any meters. I couldn’t have run through there no matter what I stood to lose or gain.

So I called my boss and told him what happened and then I had to stay there and wait for animal control, an ambulance and the police (yes, the police) to arrive. Animal control went and picked up the dead cat to test it for rabies. The medics examined me for injuries. (I had a few from the branches I had fallen on, none from the cat.) And the police took my statement. I have no idea why that was necessary. Anyway, I could also have stuck around to appear on the news, but I just wanted to finish my route and go home, so I told the cop he could take my minute of fame and moved on.

Am I a hero? Some say that I am.

Am I as strong and powerful as Samson? Some say so.

How do I feel about the whole ordeal?

Well….only a week later, I was bitten by a squirrel, so………