The ‘dangerous’ visit to Home Depot
Our intentions were good
We invited Hannah, the lab, to travel with us on our excursion to find the perfect orbital sander. We’re in the midst of home-improvement exercises; confident by good intention, if nothing else, and so it is that we found ourselves in the land of all things, orange. Things were going according to plan until the checkout experience and the heated exchanges between hubby and Ms. Self Check dOUbT. Embarrassed, Hannah and I left dad to discover and recover the vehicle upon his exit.
We dodged the bewildered look of sales associates and the presumed call to 911 for emergency help aide for the computerized check-out chick. I promised Hannah a safe reprieve at the store next door, PetsMart.
She was most happy to accommodate and lead me to safety, helping to throw open the door as we made a bee-line to our friends over in the doggie play yard.
We pretended to greet each other with big wet sniffs pressed through glass panes. It is pure joy to be loved by the masses. Pure, sweet, joy.
But time pressed us forward, for now we were heralded by the less-than-jovial, stressed patron that we had accompanied through Home Depot. Let’s see what mischief we can harangue in, The Land of Fur and Coat, with this true leader-of-the-pack. Or better yet, let’s soothe his soul with a bit of whimsy from all things, feline.
Oh no, look, there! What have we here, a tuxedo? Small, too tired to budge, no matter how many taps at his window; he refuses to be roused. We can’t have this. It’s time for action. Time to see what this is all about.
He wore a cast for a month, healing from a broken leg. WHAT? He’s loving. He’s only $150.00, but his true value is in the millions! Yes, he’s expensive, but he’s worth it. It says so, and this is when I knew I’d hit the jackpot.
Where is an associate? I MUST see this cat, NOW. I search, search and finally find someone .. who can go and find someone else .. who just might have a key .. and who just might let me see .. HIM.
I’m chewing my gum like ninety, pacing the floor and all the while talking to that angry sales patron I room with. “What am I doing asking about this cat?” “Why am I in here?” “What is it that made me do this, and do it today?”
Finally someone appears to tell me that the adoption folks have receded for the day, but they’ll be back tomorrow and if I’m truly interested I can take one of their cards. Here, have one.
“Can I hold him?”
“No. We can’t allow folks to hold cats that are up for adoption from agencies other than our own.”
“Can you hold him? Wake him up? Can I see him, fully?” My words run together, I’m not sure if it was an effect of the dissected wad of chewing gum or the lack of spit in my mouth. I was running on tense and headed toward, worried, all at the speed of sound.
I must have had a quality about me that exuded sympathy, or was it simply that this associate knew I was with that guy from next door that had flayed his arms at the computerized dummy? I’ll never know, but thankful, I am, for within moments he was unlocking a door and opening a cubby and holding this little fella up for me to view.
Smitten for the kitten
I ran for the car, but only after the door was locked and I profusely thanked the gentleman for caving to my pleas.
I went home with the man from next door.
I wrote an email at some late and heinous hour. I got the address off of that card the PetsMart associate attempted to excuse me with earlier in the evening. I enquired about “Three Dots”, the tuxedo. How’d he get that broken foot…how old is he…where’s he from….?
It was late. Time for bed. Something told me to check my email one last time.
A message from “Three Dots” caregiver. No questions answered, but simply a note telling me that she had been chided by her husband for not bringing that baby home. How on earth could she leave him in a cubby at PetsMart and come home feeling good about herself?
Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.
“Three Dot’s” was the name given to him due to the three prominent dots that he wears upon his nose. I wanted to get a good snapshot to show you, but no worry. He’s as fast as my gum-chewing, so I simply changed his name to, Gilbert Grape.
My daughter warned me that naming him Leonardo DiCaprio was pushing it. Especially at my age.
Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. Another story, another day.