A lot of readers think that I have the little guy trained. Come on, think about it. Has anyone ever seen anyone get a cat to do anything that a cat didn’t want to do? Hah!
Fat chance! You should live so long!
No, a cat is a cat, and trying to get a cat to act like a dog is like trying to get a brick to carry on an intelligent conversation. On the other hand, one might have better luck with a brick.
The SEC will walk with me on a damned short leash, but that’s about all. The only reason the little guy will do that is because he knows that it’s the only way he can get out of the house.
Today I decided to take the little guy into Lowe’s. I also decided, rather foolishly, to put myself at the mercy of the little bastard. I decided to give him a long leash and see what happened.
I short-leashed the little guy into Lowe’s and got him into the main aisle before I cut him some slack. The place wasn’t too crowded, so I felt safe doing so. Of course, being a cat, he promptly jumped on top of a display and took a nap, leaving me standing there with my thumb up my ass and a leash in my hand for about twenty minutes.
I stood there and muttered threats, much like Popeye in the early cartoons.
After about twenty minutes, I grew impatient and growled at him. He woke up, hopped off of the display and started down the aisle. After a couple aisles, he wandered into the tool cage, with me firmly attached to the little guy.
Of course, someone offered to help me.
“Yeah, could you direct me to the Paint Department?” I asked.
He started to give me directions. I interrupted.
“Don’t tell me, tell HIM.” I said shaking the leash.
“The cat? Can I give him directions?”
So the tool guy gets down on his knee and starts giving the cat directions.
Of course, the cat looks at him with a bored look of scorn.
When he’s done, I shorten up the leash and the two of us go straight to the paint department, with the tool clerk behind us, slack-jawed. We got to the paint department and the woman there asks us if she can help us.
I tell her to get out a color chart and explain that the cat needs his scratching post and climbing post painted. She asks me what color. I tell her to ask the cat. I pick the little guy up onto the counter and she lays out a color chart.
“What color do you want, kitty?” She asked.
The cat sniffs the color chart like he’s trying to make up his mind.
So I put him on the floor and tell the woman that we’ll be right back when Kitty decides. The woman looks astonished and we leave.
Kitty seems to want to head in the direction of the lumber section, I give him slack and follow. He promptly cuts a corner and runs me into a post. Whack!
“Ouch! Dammit, pay attention!” I almost shout.
I hear a snort behind me. A glance out of the corner of my eye tells me that the tool guy, probably at the direction of his boss, is following me. This is getting interesting.
Kitty whips a U-turn and we’re back in the main aisle, still headed for lumber.
We’re now dead center in the main aisle and ahead of us is one of those dopey signs announcing some type of sale. The frame of the sign is like an upturned U with a crossbar in the center, below the sign is a two-foot square hole.
Of course, Kitty makes a beeline for it. Straight through the hole. I feel the obstacle with my cane, shove my cane in my belt, and gingerly feel the rim of the hole. I get down on my belly and crawl through and get up again.
I shortened up the leash and picked up Kitty.
“Next time you pull that stunt,” I tell him. “I’m going to replace you with a German Shepherd and take you straight to a Chinese Restaurant! Chin Ho offered me two fifty a pound for your sorry ass!”
The woman beside me looks pretty shaken. She’s probably a cat owner.
I put kitty down, he heads down another aisle, cutting the corner again, and I promptly run into a display and knock out the corner of it. There is now a pile of tape measures on the floor.
“I’ll get it,” says the kid shadowing me.
Kitty gets more threats, whips another U-turn, and we’re off toward the lumber department.
By now, at least a dozen people are shadowing me. Some are amused, but most of them are looking out for my welfare. A management type seems to have figured me out, but dares not say or do anything, lest he be pounced on by an angry mob that will insist that kitty really is a Seeing Eye cat.
A kid of about twelve or thirteen asks me a question.
“Hey, Mister, were you born blind, or did you have an accident?” he asks.
“What made you go blind?”
“Masturbation,” I reply, seriously. “I didn’t believe the Nuns at school, but it really does make you go blind.”
The kid pales and takes off. Probably a St Ignatius kid.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a guy about 40 trying not to pee his pants.
Laughing his ass off, he says, “You probably ruined him for life.”
We move on. Nearing the lumber department, I hear a voice. “Piccolo, is that you?”
I ignore him. Dammit! Ratted out by a fellow ARFCOM member! Now I wish I had brought my chain saw! I’d cut the bastard lips to hips! So I ignore him.
At the lumber department is a huge, wide open door, and kitty makes a beeline for it.
Out we go and I shorten leash and we head for the pickup.