Yesterday, when P. went out to his truck, which was parked in the garage under his condo building, he found blood splattered all over his windshield and hood. He told me about this nonchalantly: “there’s blood all over my truck”, as though I wasn’t going to freak out and think someone got murdered or something. He then told me he thought it was a cat, to which I thought, “you ran over a cat? I guess we can never speak again, but it was sure great while it lasted.”
Turns out that no one was murdered, not even a cat, but rather, he noticed little paw prints (muddy, not bloody) on the hood, so he thought maybe a cat caught a bird on his hood and then got an artery. (To which, I thought, “good thing I didn’t say that last thing out loud, huh.”)
I went out with him later to clean it off, which means that he drove to the gym and back with the splattered blood, so I’m surprised he didn’t end up in jail. I think if cops happen to notice blood all over your car, “oh, a cat must have caught a bird!” is not the first thing they think.
When I finally got to view the carnage for myself, I saw that while the splatters truly were everywhere, the total volume probably was more cat prey than person-sized. I also noticed that while there were virtually no splatters on the concrete around the truck, a healthy smattering had made it to the ceiling of the garage, directly above the hood. Of course, his truck has possibly an inch of clearance (which causes me to cringe every time we drive into the garage, since I’m sure that somehow, since the last time, the ceiling has found a way to lower itself), so I suppose it’s not illogical that so much blood would go in the up direction, but it would have taken a fair amount of spurting.
We didn’t clean the ceiling, in case you were wondering. So for now, he’s parked under Pollackian blood art.