Yesterday I was out for my noontime stroll because one simply must keep the ticker going, when I distinctly heard a very unhappy cat.
I was walking along Rice Road in Oxnard, a very heavily traveled business thoroughfare that connects the Pacific Coast Highway to Interstate 101. Man, there is so much traffic – semi trucks, business people, the occasional Mercedes ragtop driven by a old tan guy with wrinkles and too much hair and a wind-blown passenger, usually female, usually looking rather miserable.
Anyway, walking am I during my lunch because it might be a good thing to do, and I need to settle the ticker after having read the day’s political news. I swear, it’s like watching a train wreck. Now that aliens are involved in the Covid Relief Package, well, how can you not look?
Anyway, behind me I hear the howl of an unhappy cat. I turn around, and here comes a guy on a bicycle, riding on the wrong side of the road. He’s dressed all in black, has a red sash (I wish I could make that up), and a coat tucked under his left arm. A youngish chap, Hispanic I surmised, and sweating in the unseasonable heat.
His right hand clutched both the handle bar and a grab of multicolored NCR forms such as one might get from a doctor’s office. Or perhaps a vet.
Because, sticking out of the folds of the bundled coat, was a tabby cat’s very angry face.
Meeerrrrroooooowwwr, she said.
I laughed and looked at the guy, who smiled with his eyes, for he wore a mask.
“She doesn’t like the way I drive!”
Anyway, now you know why I take a walk at lunch.