Channel Cat
I seen it done. Terry Palmer (Big T) had his big, rubber waders on. He stood on the pebble shore of
that big muddy river, hands on the small of his back, supporting the future ache. Big T was a big man
but a quick man; a regular warrior of the Missouri River shores. He was a star batter in his heyday, they
say. Nothin’ but home runs.
that big muddy river, hands on the small of his back, supporting the future ache. Big T was a big man
but a quick man; a regular warrior of the Missouri River shores. He was a star batter in his heyday, they
say. Nothin’ but home runs.
I watched him. Lana watched him. His kids, the three little ones he adopted from his
daughter a few years back, watched him walk like a river god into that big muddy river ‘til he was waist
deep. His beer gut broke the slow, rolling waves into rippling wings behind him. Big T, master of his
craft, showed us the way to do it right. He displayed his right pointer finger to us kids, wiggled it up
and down. It was like the thrashing of a worm on a hook, the undulating spine of a crawdad runnin’
back to its burrow. He dipped that finger into the murky depths of that big muddy river, and we all
held our breath.
daughter a few years back, watched him walk like a river god into that big muddy river ‘til he was waist
deep. His beer gut broke the slow, rolling waves into rippling wings behind him. Big T, master of his
craft, showed us the way to do it right. He displayed his right pointer finger to us kids, wiggled it up
and down. It was like the thrashing of a worm on a hook, the undulating spine of a crawdad runnin’
back to its burrow. He dipped that finger into the murky depths of that big muddy river, and we all
held our breath.
I did not see it from above, but years after I learned the way, which I tell
you now. The channel cat saw Big T’s finger, and, thinkin’ it a little somethin’
good to eat, went for it. Big T attacked then, just as the channel cat’s flat head
clamped down over Big T’s hand like a wet mitten on a frostbitten hand. You
can’t be slow, he said after. Can’t be lollygaggin’ at a time like that. He spread
his hand wide, stretched the channel cat’s mouth taught, and curled his fingers
through its gills. The gills are the handle. Those little ridged flaps of filtered air
and slimy sinew.
you now. The channel cat saw Big T’s finger, and, thinkin’ it a little somethin’
good to eat, went for it. Big T attacked then, just as the channel cat’s flat head
clamped down over Big T’s hand like a wet mitten on a frostbitten hand. You
can’t be slow, he said after. Can’t be lollygaggin’ at a time like that. He spread
his hand wide, stretched the channel cat’s mouth taught, and curled his fingers
through its gills. The gills are the handle. Those little ridged flaps of filtered air
and slimy sinew.
It had to be a fifty pound fish. Only a man like Big T could pull such a fish. That’s what we all said
after he drove us home, dropped us off in the rusted-out Ranger he’s had since his daughter lived at
home. Since he coached the softball team all by himself and they went to State. Lana n’ I said bye to Big
T, to the three little kids with their oversized shirts and big, sad eyes that watched Big T the whole ride
home. I seen it done, I said at school. The way you can catch a channel cat with just your hand. I seen it
done.
after he drove us home, dropped us off in the rusted-out Ranger he’s had since his daughter lived at
home. Since he coached the softball team all by himself and they went to State. Lana n’ I said bye to Big
T, to the three little kids with their oversized shirts and big, sad eyes that watched Big T the whole ride
home. I seen it done, I said at school. The way you can catch a channel cat with just your hand. I seen it
done.
Celia Battson resides in Kirksville, Missouri, where she is obtaining her BFA in Creative Writing at Truman State University. She has been published in the Truman Monitor, Queer in Rural Missouri Mag, and Oneiroi.