The first of the Be Weetabix For A Day entries.
So, I get up for work this morning and brush the remnants of the Bad Bar from my skanky mouth. Ick…that is the worst thing about the Bad Bar, the tobacco-alcohol, morning-after, reminicent of a cess-pool after taste. Shear nastiness in the very essence of the word. Nasty.
Carissa, Penelope, and I made a night of it since Estabon pissed me off so badly (future journal fodder, but too fresh to write about now) I just had to take revenge out at the Bad Bar. I was sinisterly hot in my Dayam!Bra along with the requisite black blouse with perkiness for all to admire. The skirt was borrowed from Fern at the last minute and I finished it off with some completely bitchin’ fish net stockings and hip boots. These hip boots are too die for, right out of Zardoz. Zardoz I tell you. The night was complete hella fun though most of the memories have to be quarentined for the next week while I process it all.
Done with said teeth brushing, I am running out the door because I am a little late. Start the car, and see that I have forgotten the purse from hell. Cannot live without purse. Must have purse. Purse.
Returning to car from purse retrieval, I see a little tiny kitten run under the car. Dammit! I don’t have time for this kitty. I can’t just drive away for fear of treadmarks up kitty’s back. That would be bad Karma. I get on all fours, scowling under the running car for the little fur ball. “Here kitty”, I call out repeatedly. No cat in sight. It must have gotten scared and ran away. Whew! I could not live with one of a cat’s nine lives resting on my shoulders. I simply could not.
I leave the driveway with last night’s CD still playing. Visions of the Bad Bar return and I smile an evil knowing grin. Wait! What the hell was THAT? I turn off the stereo and slow the car down. Meww! The innocent plea from an obviously scared-out-of-my-wits kitty. I hear it again and immediately stop the car. This cannot be happening. I hear it again. Where is it coming from? I roll down the window and hear it again. It is under the mofo car.
I hesitantly exit the car, not wanting to find what my mind was playing out. Again, under the car. There is the kitten, all teeny and small in it’s cuteness up under my car clinging to the car for life to some part whose name I don’t know. Kitty is all covered in greasy dirt from under the car staring back at me wide-eyed through the grit. First thought: What the hell are you doing up there! Cars are not for cats. Not for cats mind you.
I try to coax kitty down from car unsuccessfully. Kitty doesn’t move, but spits and hisses uncontrobablly in my direction while creeping into other places of the car I can barely see let alone reach. “Hey, look here Cat, I am trying to save your little butt, and you dare hiss at me? You are the one messing up MY morning.” I turn off the car deciding the running car must be scaring it. Where is Esteban when I need him?
I, once again, creep down inelegantly to look for Kitty again. Not to be seen. Did it crawl further into the car where I can’t see it? I never did see it run off because you know I was watching for scramming cat. Not seen by me. Not.
I spend 5 minutes exhuasting my searching skills upon the car and declare the car must be cat free. All the way to work I kept the stereo off and drove slowly. Echos of the kitty squwals from under the car fill my head at every stop. I can’t shake it…the kitty under the car will be with me forever. It may be time to trade in the car for a cat-free model.