Being accused of being a burglar is a dicey thing to try to talk your way out of to begin with.
Luckily, I used to make my living on the phone, so talking is something I can do well.
But let me explain how I ended up in this predicament.
First let me say that I am not a cat person.
Never have been, never will be.
I would say that I am a dog person, but I need to be more specific.
I am a big dog person. Little dogs of the kick-em variety make my teeth itch.
But at least they are not cats.
A pet that gets to sleep in the house and gets fed daily has an obligation to protect the house. Kick-em dogs at least try to do their part and yap incessantly at strangers.
Big dogs are friendly, playful, and just might rip the throat out of a burglar on occasion.
Back to cats.
Cats are the mooching welfare recipients of pets. You owe them a living, food, board, toys…etc.
Oh, and then theres catnip.
Cat lovers love to stockpile catnip because, and I quote, “Cats love it.”
Its a drug, dumbass.
So, the welfare recipient of pets has a drug of choice?
Of course they do.
Off on a tangent there.
Cats also have the annoying tenancy to escape on occasion.
And that would explain why I am walking down the street in downtown Sacramento at 7am calling “Here kitty, kitty, kitty!”
I feel like an idiot.
However, one of the main reasons I am out here is to keep the peace.
Its my fiancee’s daughters cat, and the girl is one of those types that views the cats as her children.
I love each and every one of the dogs that I have ever had, and I have buried over a half dozen, but lets not lose sight of the fact that they are pets.
However, a house cat that gets out doesn’t understand about cars.
I figured that, if I cover a lot of local streets and find the cat, smashed flat in the middle of the street, I can at least scrape the poor beast up and dispose of it before she see’s it. She may read this and be pissed at me for this, but its a “Protecting” parent type of move. The last thing she needs is to get it in her head that “I have to see her”. Bad idea for the long term memories.
That way, poor Whiskers was never found and may be living happily somewhere. Certainly not tossed in someones recycling garbage can and sent to the land fill.
And then I see her.
Alive and staring at me a half block away at the entry to an alley.
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”
She takes off.
I am hoofing it into the alley, fully aware that a chubby man with stubby legs cannot out run a cat in its prime, but I have to make the effort.
The cat is dawdling, about four houses into the alley, staring at me.
I get one house away, and the cat vaults the fence. The fenc e is a wooden one, a solid one despite the rickety one next store.
I am describing the fence in detail because I was eyeing it as I ran at it in an attempt to get over it.
Short men, as a general rule, tend to avoid climbing fences in a hurry. Its the type of thing you really need to take your time at.
Except that I am in a hurry.
The little furball will be gone if I don’t hurry.
I vault the fence and flip over it, land in a three-point stance.
Kitty is across a short yard and three steps up on the back porch.
I walk up slowly, making “It’s ok” sounds.
The cat isn’t having it. She runs up the porch and hides in a corner.
I am on the porch, walking towards a hissing cat thats cowering in a corner, when it hits me.
Thats when all hell breaks loose.
Back door creeks.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY CAT?!?!”
Some of my slickest fast-talking bullshit comes during moments of extrame stress.
I twisted a masterpiece of BS involving a diabetic cat dying of cancer that desperately needs its meds.
Cat lovers eat this shit up and I have absolutely no shame at the moment.
In short order, I am let out of the side gate so that I will not have to hurt my back again going back over the fence again.
I believe the poor old woman was going to get her shawl so she can go look for poor dying, diabetic, cancer-ridden (I have to stop this shit at some point) Whiskers.
My phone rings.
“I found her! She was hiding in a laundry basket! Isn’t that cute?”
I hang up.
God, I hate cats.