So I started the week off right. A new pair of shoes and a new pair of slacks. Feeling good. Not to mention a confidence enhancing light freckling on my cheeks and brow from the previous day’s tanning session, IN MY BACKYARD (that’s right, read it and weep, non-southern Californians!) As I stepped into my car I smelled the semi-frequently occurring, distinct odor of cat poo. Looked around, saw nothing and closed the door. I was off to find a massage therapy job. First stop: Get licensed. One cul-de-sac of the rabbit trail, that is the process of getting licensed, is to have a “live scan” performed on you. So I went down to the Sherriffs office, which was in a part of town I did not even know existed. I was greeted and escorted to a room with computers and flat screen of what looked like that stuff the Cylons stick their hands in to get information from the ship. This lady grabs my hand and proceeds to wipe it with a damp cloth and place it on the screen. Apparently, in the state of California, one has to have their entire two hands on record for a background check. She scanned each of my ten fingers, not just the front but the sides too. It was a little fun because you get to see a huge version of your fingerprint on the monitor in front of you. Mine looked like Vango’s “Starry Night.
At the end of my day I pulled up to the house. An innocent yet playful looking kitten was waiting by my parking space. I noticed that as I backed into the spot it did not budge even as it was but a foot away from my tire. I put her in park and started to collect my things turning to look at the kitten, now next to my window. Much to my dismay it had it’s back to me and was staring off into space. You know that look that cat’s get when they’re concentrating hard, on a certain act. My suspicions were confirmed when he got up, turned looking at me a little spooked, and scampered away. He had left me a present. And I tried to remember how long ago it was that I had started smelling things where I step outside my car.
I came to the conclusion that, however cool they may look, I don’t like the thought of my finger prints being on file and that cats, however low maintenance they may be, are difficult to live with even if they live outside. Snooty little fur balls. The cats, that is.
"Cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has a function."
~ Garrison Keillor