My Wild Existence

My Wild Existence



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         Everything happens to me! I don’t understand it! I teach seventh graders how to sew dresses. That’s hardly the basis for a wild existence, yet my life is never tame!

         Take yesterday for example. It was Saturday, and I had a score of errands to run after dropping off the cat at the vet’s office. But by the time I had Prissy loaded in her carrier, and endured fifteen minutes of meowed complaints in heavy traffic, I was ready to turn around and go home. No such luck.

         On Wednesday I’d finally managed to locate a used mannequin that the department store was willing to donate to my classroom. Picking that up was next on the agenda. I swept into the parking lot, circled seven or eight times and found a spot. A Volvo and I glared eye balls for a minute, waging war over it. My glare won.

         It wasn’t that hard to find the customer’s pickup window, but of course no one knew anything about the mannequin. Five phone calls later, someone was found that could produce the thing, and miraculously it was handed over to me, naked as the day it was molded. I carried it out to the car. Of course, I never thought about dressing the thing. Who would have believed all those people I passed would say such nasty things? My face is still red.

         Once out in the car, I discovered that “Fred”, although he was a “junior model” and supposed to be found in the children’s section, was far too big for my trunk. I certainly didn’t want to have crushed plastic head all over my trunk carpeting. So, of course, I had to place Frank on the seat beside me, buckling him in for safety.

         I started to slide into my side and drive off, but a couple of twentish-men parked next to me and started making innuendoes about my “playtoy.” That did it! I waited for them to leave, and then got out of the car, took out a spare raincoat from my trunk, and dressed Fred. The raincoat was a little large. I rolled up the sleeves and buckled him up again.

         As I drove away, several people were walking by. Their eyes passed over Fred without noticing his plastic complexion. I sighed, relieved.

         I had several more stops to make. I visited a fabric store and bought a couple of remnants to make up a shirt and pants for Fred. Then I stopped in at the drugstore for a couple of items, mailed my bills at the post office, and dropped off two garbage-sized bags of old clothing at the charity thrift shop. Next, I treated myself to a grilled cheese sandwich and coke at Tommy’s Drive-Through. Nothing beats a grilled cheese at Tommy’s. I licked my fingers when I was done.

         Finished, I dialed up the veterinarian’s office from under the shade tree where I’d parked to eat.

         “Your kitty’s kind of groggy, but you can pick her up anytime you want,” the receptionist said. I cleaned up my food wrappings and drove back to the vet.

         It took two lab techs and me, all stuffing and pushing before Prissy was inside the carrier. If cat talk has swear words, I’m sure Prissy used them abundantly. That was one angry cat!

         I paid for her little operation and carried the yowling, hissing cat out to my car. Unfortunately, my troubles were far from over. While I’d been inside, a crowd had gathered around my Toyota. A policecar’s blue and yellow siren lights were circulating angrily. Two black-suited cops were working at my window with something that looked suspiciously like a tool for breaking and entering.

         “Excuse me!” I said, irritated beyond common sense. I mean, I hadn’t parked illegally, my car tags were all valid, and I had no unpaid parking tickets. I think I was justified in being perturbed!

         One of the cops turned to glare. His eyes took in the angry cat in my carrier, but Prissy wasn’t the only one angry enough to scratch! The cop backed away two steps and then spread his legs like he was ready for a football tackle.

         “Is this your car, ma’am?” he asked.

         The people stepped back, but the frowns were evident in everyone’s face. I tried to ignore the crowd.

         “Yes, and could you tell me the problem?” I said.

         “Ma’am, would you open the door, please.”

         I fumbled in my purse, feeling for the key -- something not easy to locate when a cat is bouncing about in her carrier trying to bop everyone with her claws. We were all standing on the passenger’s side of the car. I planned to put Prissy in the backseat, but I followed the man’s gesture and opened up the front door.

         The cop trying to break in, pushed me aside and grabbed for Fred. I protested as he jerked the safety belt free, but I guess I was lucky he hadn't thrown me up against the car with my hands cuffed behind my back.

         Thankfully, the crowd dissolved away as everyone realized that my mannequin wasn’t a child I’d walked off and left. The police, not wanting to admit that they’d made a huge mistake, still checked my driver’s license and called my car registration in, but finally, even they had to admit that I was clean.

         The first cop grumbled something about my costing the city money because of my false alarm, but the second man, who stayed a moment to rebuckle in Fred and to help me put the cat carrier into the backseat, turned out to be a lot nicer. Seems he’d stopped by to check on his cat. Same vet, same operation.

         Bill and I exchanged smiles, and in a moment he drove away. I sighed and hoped he wouldn't forget me. It would be nice to see him under happier circumstances.

          Meanwhile, my cat, my mannequin, and I drove home.


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