I cudda done Mom’s legs like a scratching post, I was so ticked off. So, last Monday when I went out, I went over a street where I’d be a good ways from her. In a bad mood, I hissed at a pipsqueak of a Pomeranian barking at me through its chain-link fence. I postured right up to the fence. Hissing, I lifted my paw toward her nose. A cat must have scratched her once, cuz I didn’t get close, but she yelped like she’d been caught in a bear trap. I laughed and laughed.
Out for five minutes, I forgot I wanted to get back at Mom. I forgot to find mice to drop all bloody on our welcome mat. I chased the birds off that whole block, and then ran home to clear our yard of the critters.—Great fun.
Later on, I heard Mom calling, “KittyCat…KittyCat…”
Starving, I wanted to run to her and into my house to where my dish is, and beside it a cat-shaped jar of food for refills. Getting sleepy, too, I wanted to take a nap inside cuz it was hotter than a just-fried chicken out there. I wanted to go in, but …. I hate bad-before-it-gets-good choices.
This time the bad was embarrassment. A carload of church people handing out their magazines had just taken over both sides of our street. Mom says we should always be hopeful. So, I’m thinking, I’ll make a run for the porch before anybody notices me.
“Well, there’s your kitty cat,” says a lady who was all set to tell Mom what God thinks of us Methodists. “So pretty. What’s her name?”
HER!!! Her name? I'm insulted. Well, of course. Like, who would know? When you don’t have the parts, even other cats have their doubts. Next, I hear Mom’s reply--it's a double put-down in less than a minute. But “duh” on the woman’s face turns it funny.
Ha, ha. I guess the woman thought anybody so stupid they couldn’t come up with a better name for their cat is best left in their own church. She didn’t even give Mom any stuff she had to hand folks, and with another woman she headed—like walking really fast cuz they didn’t wear fancy shoes—toward the next house.
When you’re laughing at folks, you can’t be angry, and you can’t stay embarrassed. I’d been laughing too hard to eat right away, so I let Mom hug me and tell me gooey stuff about how much she loves me, and how I’m so handsome. After a bit, she put me down by my dish. Forgetting how bad the day started, I snacked, then crashed, and had happy dreams.
©2012, Bernice W. Simpson