Catfish (cont.)

Me and Father O'Doole was fishing in Harper Lake just this morning. We been friends since my second wife liked for me to take her to mass, that's what they call church, every Sunday. After she got hit by a  streetcar in New Orleans and died, I still went to mass right regular, but I never was a full-fledged Catholic.
I mean I never learned all the different names they had for things or went to confession--something you supposed to do often if you are Catholic. But I really enjoy the company of Father O'Doole.
But I gotta get back to grandpa and Millwood. They was chasing down a big ole fish when they seen it was a catfish. Every so often they would get close enought for Millwood to hit it on the head with an oar.
But nothing seemed to slow it down any. You know how luck somehow gets in the middle of things. Well it did this day, because grandpa had run short on fishing line and had some his daddy had left that was for deep sea fishing. Him and Millwood had been laughing at it because it looked so big and funny on the pole. But anything smaller and that catfish would have broken it, don't you know.
Can you smell that? Dorothy is cooking country fried steak over at the cafe. I think I'll have to finish up tomorrow. Ain't nobody makes country fried steak like Dorothy.