The call came over the police scanner: cat struck by car at 11th and P-----. That's my territory. I was out of the office and to the scene in a minute, but the teens gathered at the corner had not seen a cat.
Around another block and another street over, I hadn't found an endangered cat. Then I saw Dirt Cat. Unscathed. Or perhaps struck by a car and unfazed. Dirt Cat lives. Here is a few months ago:
Whenever I see Dirt Cat he is walking cautiously in the wide open. And he never sees me until I'm approaching at a sprint.
He looks like a bobcat in the face, a mangy dog otherwise, but ultimately he's a stray cat and perhaps a little slow. He lives in the basement of our house with Basement Cat, Weiner Cat* and Real Cat (otherwise known as Dust Cat, because he's gray, but he's also the least stray-like, and hence, real).
The first time I saw Dirt Cat he was creeping along the neighbor's fence. I chased him for fun and he led me right to his home: our basement. The next time he was creeping into a pipe: I surprised him at the other end. I also chased him with Chase, leading to the first-ever photo seen above.
The best chase happened about a week ago, when I started chasing him around the house. He way ahead and I think he slowed down, expecting me to be coming back the other way around, so when I caught up from behind he was peeking around the corner and had to bust tail all over again.
Finally, I chased Dirt Cat yesterday afternoon. Having just finished a juggling session I turned to walk home from across the street when, sure enough, here comes Dirt Cat, padding onto the lawn but unaware of me. See him bookin' it at the end of the video below:
My belly is full of squid but I'm still faster than Charleston, SC.
The days pass in a lazy, dizzy sort of haze. There's already a lot to be happy about. The family I'm staying with have hospitality that can't be beaten, I'm almost sure, save for one of them, Malbec the cat. A typographic claw mark makes an "L" across my hand.
The real summer begins tomorrow, Monday, and I have a box full of story ideas.
It's odd to think that on the same spot where I buy shaved ice, hundreds and hundreds of people died. Even more odd, to honor them they stick up anamatrons that repeat the same thing every fifteen minutes.
Livia Purdy, 6, who was "not born through the birth canal," knows her multiplication tables up to 5 x 12. She knows that boxes are for playing in and that a 1 is the hardest dice roll to roll, "because you need them the most" in the game of Aggravation.
Livia wishes that Chase didn't have any money so he'd have to stay around the house when he visits. She'll play dolls with you and not tell your friends. The secret treasure under her bed is a green trampoline. She seems to weigh about 20 pounds when clinging to your shoulder.
She faces 90 degrees the wrong way when batting. She has a cat named Gracie (named so because the cat is gray and a girl cat). She thinks her younger brothers are fraidy cats for failing to jump into the cold pool.
Livia lives with Connie, Bruce, Luke, Abe, Gracie, Blackie, Poco (dog), a fourth cat, and sometimes Chase. She lives upon a hill in Kentucky (less hazy and a lot more like heaven than Hiram, Ohio) that seems much farther from Louisville than it is. Their driveway is gravel and leads to a garage full of lawn mowers, hanging bikes, and engine-type things. It takes a series of harrowing country roads to get there. They get water from a cistern (which they used to fill with water on a delivery truck). Abe rides a Rip Stick. Everyone except Livia shoots hoops, but she's comfortable with chocolate on her lips.
Also, looks like NYC and D.C. got into a bit of a Metro war.
Who the f**k wants a sophisticated subway map? WTF does that even mean? I'm thinking something in an a nice font like Trajan with pictures of sea serpents around Rockaway with a scroll in their mouth that says, "Here There Be Monsters."
