My mother reminded me the other night that I used to have a devil cat that went without mention in the post about my favorite cats. There would be a reason that cat was not included in the list. She was not only not my favorite cat, she is the only cat I have ever met that I couldn't stand.
That cat truly was possessed by Satan, and I have never been happier to see a pet go away. She was unrepentant about every single rotten thing she ever did, and I'm pretty sure she stayed awake at night dreaming up nefarious schemes to wreak havoc upon our world. Or at least my part of it, anyway.
Among the tricks she would pull out of her bag were urinating on the carpet in the hallway, where you couldn’t really see it until you stepped in it, although you certainly couldn’t be unaware it was there. Her pungent presence was unmistakable, rapidly emanating throughout the house, as she left her calling card fairly routinely, despite a lovely litter box available to her at all times mere paw pads away.
She clawed the furniture and climbed the curtains relentlessly, until we had her declawed. Then she extracted her vengeance by biting me, drawing blood on a regular basis. She left many scars behind her to remind me at odd moments that I am not an entirely loved human, and that there is at least one cat who never fell prey to my charms.
Her most favorite trick of all involved a hallway, a long run, and her claws. We had a hallway from the living room to the back bedroom. She would start at the beginning of the hallway, and then run down the length of it and take a flying leap onto my bed. She never did this during the day, of course. She would wait until I was sound asleep, then the action would begin. I would awaken to hear a ghostly galloping coming rapidly closer, and then WHAM. She would be on my back, talons digging into my skin, and meowing at me as though I was the one at fault for the ruckus.
The first time she did this, I thought it was all a mistake, and she didn’t know what she was doing. The second time she did it, I still thought it was probably an accident. But the gleam in her eye did not go unnoticed, so I knew I had better keep close watch on the situation. When it happened the third time, I knew I had run into that most despicable of all creatures, the devil cat. She had the evil eye, and for reasons that I do not understand to this day, she fixed it upon me and made it her mission to drive me past the point of sanity and into madness.
I hung on and kept trying to civilize her until my son was born, but at that point, it came to down to him or her, and I wasn’t giving him up, so she had to go. As I mentioned, I was not sorry to see her disappear from my life. Honestly, I was rather grateful to have the excuse that my son's safety was at stake. But I do have a heart, especially for animals, who are, after all, more or less captive to the whims of their owners, so I felt kind of bad about it all, just the same.
I didn’t want to deprive her of her life unnecessarily, so we decided to take her to a shelter, in hopes that someone else would have better luck with her. Given that she was spayed and declawed, I was pretty certain that she would be given another chance, and I sincerely hope she treated them better than she did me. Because she is the single, solitary cat I have ever met that didn’t instantly fall in love with me, and the feeling was entirely mutual. Come to think of it, my ex-husband was the one who got her. That explains a lot right there.
Anyway, the real story begins when we took the cat to the humane society in Minneapolis. For some reason, the city we lived in didn’t have a humane society, and as I said, I wanted her to have a chance. Just not with me. So we took a trek to The Cities one Saturday 11 days after Adam was born.
We were pretty pathetic at that point, I must say. We were broke, we were new parents who got no sleep because we had an infant that never slept, we were amazingly stupid about pretty much everything, especially if it required common sense. So we took off for The Cities an hour and half away with nothing more than the kid in the car seat and a couple of diapers, and probably not even enough money for gas to get home.
And, of course, the offending pet, who yowled like a banshee the entire distance, just to make sure we didn’t have any regrets when we got there. I swear that cat knew where she was going and she was glad about it, because she obviously hated me even more than I disliked her. And that, I must tell you, is saying something.
We arrived in plenty of time, and all was well. We dropped her off, they were not entirely unhappy to take her, and I must say, her attitude improved the moment she was someone else’s responsibility. I am moderately hopeful that she was a changed animal for the experience. It would make me feel less bad about the whole thing.
Anyway, with lighter hearts, we got back into the car and started home again, figuring we would be there in good time for supper. (That is a cozy little Minnesota word for dinner, and it means the evening meal, which often consists of hot dish, which is another cozy little word straight from the land of the ten thousand lakes. And a few loons. Some of which are related to me. Or related to people who are related to me. Which is actually a lot of people, because I have a lot of relatives, so if any of them would be named... never mind. Where was I again?)
All was going well until we stopped at a red light in Shakopee, Minnesota. Did I mention that this was the weekend of the Renaissance Festival? And that there was a horse track that got out about the same time as the Festival? And just to make things really fun, did you know their largest employer ended their shift right about then? And then there was Valleyfair right there, too. Well, I didn’t know all that, either, until the car died in the middle of four lanes of piled up traffic, and refused to move another inch.
We sat there, my ex and I, and looked at each other in bewilderment. We simply didn’t know what to do. We had about 15 cents between us. I was still recovering from a Cesarean section operation that was more invasive than most, so I was already well beyond exhausted and on the way to catatonic, and wasn’t allowed to lift anything heavier than my baby. My parents, who we always counted on to save us from our own stupidity, were out of town for the weekend. Worse yet, this was long before cell phones were anywhere but in the heel of Maxwell Smart’s shoes, and since we weren’t Maxwell, and weren’t all that smart, either, we were up a creek without a paddle.
Like any good Irish Scandinavian, I could only say, Uff Da," the Norwegian epithet that covers all contingencies.
While we sat there, trying to understand the fate that had befallen us, and more urgently, what we were going to do about it, a police car pulled up behind us. We were relieved, because we knew that help was now at hand. Here was an expert, someone who was accustomed to traffic related crises. He would be the solution provider, and he would know how to make it happen.
Well, he knew what to do, all right. He yelled at us, “Get that car out of the middle of the road.”
Well, okay, genius, I guess we didn’t realize that we were blocking traffic, what with all the noise from the honking horns preventing us from being able to hear ourselves think. Then he yelled at my ex to get behind the car and push, and shouted at me to get behind the wheel.
We tried to explain, of course, that I was not allowed to drive as I had just had major surgery, but he didn’t care a whit about my health. The only thing he was interested in was getting that car out of the middle of his street, and if someone got hurt in the process, it wasn’t his problem. Then he jumped back into his patrol car and roared away, lights flashing and siren blaring until he got beyond the bottleneck. Then he turned the corner, and he was gone, leaving us little better off than we were before.
If I were mean, I would leave you hanging there, with us in the middle of the street and no end to this story in sight. But I have never liked cliff hangers. I always read the ending of the story first to see what happens, so I can decide if I'm going to like it or not. I don't want to invest a lot of time in something only to find out I hate it. So I will continue this story, and if you think it's in the wrap up phase, you are wrong, because this story is just starting to get interesting.
Or as interesting as any story I tell ever gets. In fact, this is really my best story, so it's downhill from here. Sorry.
Anyway, to continue....
There we were, still in the street, and now blocking traffic even more thoroughly than before the thoughtful intervention of the long arm of the law. We must have looked particularly pathetic, because suddenly, people decided we needed help to get the car off the road. Although, come to think of it, possibly it may have been that they just wanted us removed from the street so they could go home or wherever they were headed. I'm not sure which it was, although the tightly pursed lips of one of the people who helped may have been a hint. I dunno.
Anyway, eventually with the help of some rather annoyed strangers to whom I am happy to say I am not related, but am eternally grateful, we got off onto to the side street, and we were out of harm's way, at least for the moment. It didn't solve the myriad of problems that we were imminently facing, and which had not yet dawned upon us, so for a brief moment, there was some relief.
Then, standing there on the sidewalk in the middle of downtown Shakopee, we realized our dire situation. I do not think dire is too strong of a word under the circumstances. No car. No money. No food. No way home. It was getting late, after 6 in the evening, by that point. Oh, and no diapers. The last point was rapidly becoming the most urgent, as our soggy infant could not slosh around indefinitely in his rapidly dampening apparel.
We looked at each other in some desperation, with no idea what to do, or where to turn. The seriousness of the whole situation was dawning on us, and I said a silent prayer for guidance. And that was when a miracle occurred, and I had the honor of meeting two of God's real angels, come to earth to save us from ourselves.
Out of nowhere, a car pulled up, and a couple got out. They were was young, about our own age, and he asked if we needed help. We would have done the usual Minnesota thing, our cross to bear and all that, except it was getting dark, we had a newborn baby, I was about to expire with fatigue and worry, and we had absolutely no where else to turn.
We explained the situation to them. We told them about the cat, and why we were there. How the car had just died, right there in the middle of the street. How the cop had left us high and dry, without even getting us out of the middle of the road. How we had no money, no one to call, no diapers and no food, to say nothing of no way home. And how we had no earthly idea where to have the car towed, or who to call to tow it. In short, we were a mess, and we laid the whole problem at the feet of these strangers who listened with such sympathy and concern, and took control of the situation for us.
In very short order, I still don't know how it happened, he had a tow truck there, he had me bundled into the back seat of his car with Adam, they had Tom off with the tow truck driver to the shop, and without even a moment of hesitation, they followed after the tow truck in their car, with Adam and I safely tucked away in the back seat.
He took a turn on the way, and I had a brief moment of concern when he pulled up in front of a house. He said he would be right back, asked if I wanted to come in and use the restroom, get a drink, call someone - anyone? - which I would have, if only I had known who to call.
While the couple ran in to do whatever it was they were going to do, I recall thinking, this is probably a really stupid thing to be doing. I am in a car with total strangers, no one on earth knows where I am, and I have exposed my newborn infant to the most dangerous situation he will probably ever be in. But since I didn't have any better ideas, I decided to just let it all happen. Frankly, I was almost too exhausted to care any more. If they were going to hurt me, at least I would probably get some sleep, was my delusional thought process.
Then they were back out again, with drinks for me, and of all things, some teeny, little diapers. I have no clue why this unmarried, childless couple would have had diapers in their house, but diapers they had. They hopped in the car, they handed me diapers, drink, and some crackers to snack on, and they said, let's go see about your car.
I think I fell asleep, because the next thing I knew, we were at the auto shop, and there was my husband. I have rarely felt so happy to see him, I must be honest. The shop was going to fix the car, but it wouldn't be until the following week, leaving us still stranded in Shakopee. However, I felt that now, at least, I had some hope. I was trying to decide who, among the many relatives I have, was actually in town and available, when this young couple did something for which I will be forever in their debt. They said, "Hop into the car, we will take you home."
We protested, of course. It was an hour and a half to our house, and then an hour and half back. We couldn't possibly allow them to do that for us, they didn't even know us. But somehow, almost before we knew it, we were back in their car, and heading for home.
Along the way we talked, as people do, about our lives. We told them about being students, they talked about what they had done that day. Which was to work, and then attend the Renaissance Festival. We found out they had to be to work early the next morning when we arrived at our home, and asked them to come in, so we could scrape together at least enough money for their gas, and they refused. We tried to give them something for their troubles, and they would not hear of it. We did finally persuade him to give us his business card, so that we could, at the very least, write him a thank you note, and then they were gone with a smile and a wave. Truly the nicest people you could hope to meet in a crisis.
I know you are thinking, well, that's a nice story. Stupid of you, but nice. But it's not over yet.
The following Monday, my mother came home. I called her and cried on her shoulder, as usual, and she came and got Adam and me a couple days later and we went to pick up the car. My mother is living proof that you never get to stop being a mother, because I am still at it, and she is still saving me from myself on a regular basis. We went up and I paid for the car, (as I recall, I had to borrow the money from her - sorry, Mom,) and she went her way, and we went ours.
I tried, on the way home, to find that house again, but I got all turned around, and I couldn't figure out where it was. I even went back to retrace my route from the street where we got stranded, but I couldn't find that neighborhood for anything, no matter what strategy I tried. It was the oddest thing, because one thing I do have is a good sense of direction, and I can usually find anything, anywhere, but I never did find that house that day.
We knew we had to call the young man, I don't recall his name now, to thank him again for all he did for us, and to try to repay him for his gas, at least, and his time. We called the number on the business card, and while the number was real, and the company was the right one for that number, there was no one there by that name. Nor had there ever been, to anyone's recollection.
If there had been an anywho.com back then, unless it registered in heaven, I don't think we would have found him, because I know that God sent those angels to us that day, because we were lost, and then we were found. So if you ever wondered if you have a guardian angel, I can tell you, yes, because I have looked mine in the eye.
