Byron quite helpfully volunteered to get some spaghetti and meatballs started while I was on the phone.
"It's about time he did something without me telling him to!" I thought, and went upstairs to conduct my interview in peace.
Twenty minutes in, a Byron-shaped flash darts in front of me, clutching his hand on his way to the bathroom. I raise an eyebrow, but Byron doing strange things is actually pretty normal so I don't think anything of it until he thrusts his finger in front of my face, which is super bloody and looks like he tried to chop it off, because that is nearly what he did.
My eyes widen, but The Anonymous Foxhunter is on an anonymous roll talking about anonymous things so all I can really do is sneak into the bathroom, "Uh-huh"-ing my way through about 30 seconds of conversation, grab a towel, wrap it around Byron's hand, and shoo him out the door.
When the interview was over I went to the kitchen to figure out what the hell happened and whether dinner is even feasible at this point. I find a hunk of ground meat which somehow our cats have ignored, and an onion cut in two halves.
That's all it took. One attempt at slicing an onion. The skin was still on it and everything.
Sometimes I really don't know how he has managed to survive this long.