The last few times I’ve come to the hometown I’ve taken the train, which can be a little dull, what with all the delays and sitting on the tracks going nowhere. Not that I’m complaining. I enjoy things that are a little dull, especially the rare occasions when I get to be a little dull by myself.
Today’s drive to the hometown? Not dull.
The first thing? I realized I didn’t have the proper needles with me for my knitting project right as we came to an exit with a yarn shop. Okay, that’s not very exiting but it might be the fastest yarn trip I’ve ever made.
The real excitement started at a rest area outside New Florence, Missouri. I normally avoid rest areas, especially since a body missing some vital parts - like the parts supported by the neck - was found at the next rest area east of the New Florence one a few years ago. But this was an emergency. Clara Jane expressed a desire to pee as we passed the last civilized exit for many miles and, well, I was experiencing some intestinal issues.
By the time we got to the nearest bathroom - the rest area - Clara Jane had changed her mind but my colon certainly hadn’t. I made that mad dash and everything turned out fine.
Afterwards I was … let’s just say taking care of paperwork when I heard someone say, “Oh, I’m sorry.” I didn’t think it was directed at me, so I didn’t say anything.
Once I finished the paperwork, turned around, and noticed that my stall door was standing wide open, well, I probably should have accepted the apology of the other woman, who was in the next stall. Instead, I washed my hands while sprinting out the door. Brian took Clara Jane to the bathroom while I laid in the truck, pretended to be engrossed in my knitting pattern so that I wouldn’t be recognized. The curtains don’t match the drapes so perhaps I wasn’t recognized.
Oh! But it gets better! About 45 minutes later we stopped at the mall in Columbia, again upon Clara Jane’s insistence. You see, they have a carousel and all.
While walking through the busy parking lot, Brian and I heard meowing so loud and pronounced that it took a few meows for me to accept that it was possibly a real cat and not a cell phone. Brian pointed to the car where he thought it was coming from, and I went to investigate.
Peeked in the windows. No cat. Looked under the car. No cat. I told Brian to go on while I walked around the car, knocking on the car to scare out any possible undercarriage hitchhikers. Soon I was joined by another woman. “Are you looking for a kitten?” she asked.
Turns out, she had heard the cat on her way into the mall. A trio of college guys told her they’d seen it run from under one car to another, and that it was “two days old and covered in oil”.
Next thing I know, I’m lying on my stomach in the Columbia Mall parking lot with a woman named Della, shining a flashlight into a stranger’s undercarriage in search of a mystery cat who hasn’t made a peep since I arrived at the car.
At one point a minivan pulled up, waiting to see if we were leaving. Because don’t you always lay down and shimmy under your car before you leave the mall? They asked if we were leaving, and we explained what was happening. The driver reached into the backseat, grabbed a chiahuhahua and asked if he might be able to help get the cat. Um, no.
Then the car owner arrived, of course. The sweetest little sundress and strappy sandal-wearing sorority girl who ever stepped out of Victoria’s Secret with a cute pink bag. Upon seeing two strangers lying under her car in the mall parking lot, she instantly looked like she was going to cry. Like I told Kristina later, I could just about see her thinking about every possible urban legend that begins with this scenario. Eventually we got her to pop the hood and sure enough, there was a wee little black kitty by the engine, panting and terrifying.
So the sorority girl got a long ice scraper, and Della poked the cat out. Unfortunately the little shit ran the wrong direction, directly into the undercarriage of the next car. I took my “Beware of Cat” note and moved it to the next car. The sorority girl gave us her cat-poker and left.
You know you’ve reached a certain degree of desperation when it’s 5:30 PM on a Friday, you’re sitting on the pavement in a mall parking lot, looking for a cat who doesn’t have much survival instinct and you say, “Hey! I know! I’ve got a friend who works for the Humane Society in Akron, Ohio! I’ll call her!”
I’d already called the local Humane Society, who said they don’t send people out on such calls and recommended we chalk it up as a lost cause.
In the meantime, while lying under the car, the alarm beeped. Turns out it was the car of the three guys Della had talked to earlier, finding themselves oh so very funny for scaring us. They weren’t surprised or scared to see two women shimmied under their car. As Brian later said, they were probably all thinking, “Dear Penthouse Forum: I was shopping at the mall with two of my friends one day…”
Kristina recommended that we find something really stinky to lure out the cat. We’d already tried luring it out with a homemade peanut butter dog biscuit, a sprinkling of non-dairy creamer, an empty Tupperware container that earlier had sausage in it, and some of Clara Jane’s milk.
What smells worse than Taco Bell? Well, aside from the room two hours after eating Taco Bell? By this time Brian and Clara Jane had returned. I left them, Della, and the three guys, all in various stages of trying to coax the cat out so I could run to the food court and buy the cat a damn taco.
“Since you’re going, could you get me a soft taco without sour cream?” asked one of the boys. I told him he could have whatever the cat didn’t eat.
When I came back to the parking lot, the entire cat retrieval operation had moved two cars down. Once again the little shit bolted for another car.
The boys helped us position our taco (another term that was probably in the Penthouse letter) under the most recent car before leaving. I once again moved my “Beware of Cat” sign and sent Brian and Clara Jane to get dinner while we waited. But there really wasn’t much we could do. It was obvious the cat wasn’t coming anywhere near us. We exchanged information and went out separate ways.
An hour later, when we left the mall, the car was still there and the taco untouched (not a part of the Penthouse letter) . As much as I hate giving up on someone so vulnerable, I think every avenue had been exhausted, short of acquiring a crobar and tranquilizer darts. I do hope the kitty found his way to safety. Or at least met an end that didn’t involve the suffering involved of being a stray. I had a little talk with St. Francis that went something like, “Look. I spent an hour lying in a parking lot with a bunch of strangers while wearing an expensive shirt. Don’t you think I’ve paid for that cat’s sin?”
Perhaps this is my punishment for exposing myself at the rest area and shuffling away in shame.
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