a sad story about a cat

The story you are about to read happened to my friend John Mitchell. I did not, repeat, DID NOT make it up. John, if you are out there somewhere, please verify.

John lived at Woodlawn plantation in a house that was divided in two. On one side was John's place, which he shared with his sister. On the other side was this crack head kind of couple that had a million cats. Okay, actually they only had about 20 cats. Anyway, the cats kept getting eaten by foxes or whatever, and the crack head wife (they weren't crack heads, actually, they were just really weird not quite hippy people and I think the guy wore black socks every day, and his wife was that crazy lady with 20 cats, you know the type) kept accusing John of trying to poison, strangle, capture, torture, barbecue, or relocate (the cat version of extreme rendition) her brood.

John is the type of guy who would never hurt a living creature unless it was human. So it used to make him mad because the cats would pee in his flowers and scratch up his screen and the only thing he ever did was yell at them. Once one pooped in his softball shoes, which he had left out on the porch because they were wet.

Fast forward to the point of the story. One cold, rainy morning John went out to the driveway to start his truck. The driveway was a long dirt thing ending in a big circle from which everyone's parked vehicle radiated like petals on a pollution flower. He put the truck into gear and started to back up. Suddenly he heard a horrible howl.

He pulled forward and hopped out of the truck. There, on the ground, was a flattened cat. And not just ANY cat, but the crazy lady's FAVORITE cat. It seems the cat went to sleep in the well of John's back wheel because it was dry and warm. The cat did not register that starting the truck meant moving the truck.

John was in a panic. He didn't want to tell crazy lady that he killed her cat. So he did what any man in his position would do. He got a small shovel and pried the cat off his tire tread where it was lodged. Then he placed the cat on the back tire of the crazy lady's car.

Amazingly, it worked. The woman had a nervous breakdown and she and her husband moved from Woodlawn Plantation. We had a huge party, which, oddly enough, is the last time I saw my friend Doug Rippey. Apparently I was wearing leather pants at the party. Oy vey.