Weird things happen to me. All the time.
It was back maybe 8 years ago now, Ian and I decided to take a trip to the beach. The sun was bright and the air smelt fresh. It was not the hottest day of summer.
Geared up with our suntan lotion and sandals and the windows rolled down we headed out into the wind of the high-way. I love the feel of it whipping and tossing my hair anyway it wants to.
We cranked the tunes, bopping our heads to Beastie Boys because Ian said "No freaking way" to Ricky Van Shelton.
I had my feet up on the dashboard while he drove.
We were out in the middle of cornfield on all sides when it happened.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flash of white.
"Oh, Ian!" I yelled. "Stop!"
"Wha-," Ian shouted, as his reflexes just automatically pushed down hard on the brake.
But it was too late.
It was a sensation like pushing your finger into butter when we ran over that cat. It had the sound of squishing too much silly putty between your hands, moist crackling sounds of bones and blood merging.
I sat up-right, hand to mouth, gagging.
"Oh, Ian-," I looked at him through watery eyes. "Stop. The. Car."
"I guess it is not a good time to say 2 points, eh?"
That is when we heard the siren.
Ian looked up at the Officer as he leaned into the open window, resting his thick, hairless forearms on the door. I could see my small reflection in his silver-mirrored sunglasses.
"Hello, officer. What can I do for you?" I had never seen Ian so polite and serious in my life.
"License and registration," the Officer growled.
Ian reached over into the glove box and quickly pulled out the information.
Without a word, the officer took what Ian handed to him and ambled back to his cruiser.
"For fuck," Ian muttered.
"Cat-Killer," I said.
"You realize you hit something back there?" the Officer asked, opening up Ian's door.
"Uh-yes, sir," Ian replied.
"And were you planning on pulling over and going back there to see what you could do about it?"
"Uh-yes, sir, just about to."
He motioned for Ian to get out of the car with his head.
"Oh, good then, I will accompany you. Let's go. The both of you." He smiled sickly at me.
"Oh-I do not want to," I pleaded with my eyes to him.
"Let's go. Now," he replied back evenly.
I slowly opened the car door and put my shaky feet on the gravel shoulder of the road. I took a deep breath and stood.
As we passed by his car, he stopped to unlock his trunk.
Ian and I watched with wide eyes as he pulled out a shovel and white garbage bag.
"Oh," I said.
"What is that for?" Ian asked.
"Boy, do you not know the law? You got to clean-up your own roadkill."
"Oh, uh, alright," said Ian.
"But this here, this is a special case," continued the officer, as we started our small trek back to the cat. "When it appears what you have killed is a pet, you are to make every attempt to find out who the animal belongs to. Failing that, you must take the deceased animal to the local Humane Society and fill out a report about the incident."
"I ain't ever heard of that," said Ian.
"$1500 fine, otherwise," the Officer arched an eyebrow at him.
The cat lay in a bloody mass, pink intestines seemed to squiggle against the hot black road. It's eyeballs gorged out of his flattened skull. The tip of it's tail was the only black on it's white body.
"Nice job you kids did here, huh?" asked the Officer.
"Jesus," I whispered.
"Here you go," the Officer said to Ian, holding out the blue handled shovel. "I will hold the bag open for you."
I looked away. The metal scrapping on the road traveled right up my spine, through my bones, leaving gooseflesh rising on my arms. I looked down and rubbed my neck with both hands, trying to block out the sound, feeling the stirring deep in my belly.
The only house to be seen was a little red one, less then a hundred feet away.
"We go there," the Officer pointed, handing Ian the little white bag.
"Come on, man," Ian begged. "This is crazy."
"I know you are not mocking the law," the Officer peered over his sunglasses into Ian's eyes.
"You can knock on the door, there, Miss," he said to me when we approached the house.
"Me?" I squeaked. "What did I do?"
"Does it look like I am here to play games?" the Officer questioned me.
I turned and knocked on the glass of the white screen door.
A Little Old Lady with curly grey hair, barely standing five foot approached the door and opened it. She was in a green and orange flowered nightgown.
"Oh!" she sputtered. "Can I help you?"
"Go on," said the Officer to Ian.
"Uh-well, do you own a cat?"
"Oh, sure I do. Little Tootsie is around here somewhere. Why?"
"Uh...uh..well...ummm..." Ian was at a lost for words.
The Officer, annoyed, grabbed the bag from Ian's hands and the Little Old Lady stepped outside.
"Ma'am. We do hate to trouble you, but it seems these kids ran over a cat just a bit ago. Do you suppose you could take the time to ID this cat so we know if it belonged to you."
Her hand came up to clutch her throat, torture started to brew in her blue eyes. "Oh, it can't be Tootsie. I just saw her-." The Little Old Lady's voice cracked and stopped.
"I am sorry, Ma'am. It is procedure."
"Of course," she whispered. She closed her eyes, quickly opening them. "Let's get on with it then."
At arm's length, the Officer held open the bag and the Little Old Lady peered in.
"Oh," she moaned as she took a step back, tears formed in her eyes. "Oh. Oh. Tootsie. Not Tootsie. My Tootsie."
"Ma'am, I am sorry to have to put you through this," the Officer said curtly.
"I am truly all alone now," she covered her eyes with her hands. "She was all I had left in the world. Tootsie." She leaned back against her door. Her body started to shake, her upper arms jiggling, her breasts heaving.
I looked wildly at Ian.
"What do we do?" I whispered.
Ian looked at me, pale-faced. "I have no clue. Oh my God."
I jammed my hands in my pocket, feeling the twenty dollar bill I had brought with me.
The Little Old Lady was sobbing loudly.
"How much you got?" I hissed at Ian.
"Huh?" he asked.
"I got twenty."
Realization dawned in Ian's eyes. "Give it to me."
I handed it over as he fished into his own pocket.
"Ma'am?" Ian spoke.
She slowly looked up at him.
"Ma'am, I feel really bad about this. I did try to stop. It was just...just too late. I know I cannot bring Tootsie back, but I have $50 here. I know it is not much, but maybe it will buy you another cat."
"Another cat?" she asked, aghast. "No, I do not think so. But I will take that money."
Ian held it out to her and she took it with her pale, veiny hands.
The Officer rushed forward, pulling the Little Old Lady's hands behind her back, snapping on the handcuffs.
"What the hell are you doing?" I screamed.
"I am arresting her," the Officer seethed at me.
The world started to spin as I choked out "Oh, my God! What for?"
Calmly, the Officer pulled off his sunglasses and looked me square in the eyes. He licked his lips and opened his mouth.
"For selling pussy."
It was back maybe 8 years ago now, Ian and I decided to take a trip to the beach. The sun was bright and the air smelt fresh. It was not the hottest day of summer.
Geared up with our suntan lotion and sandals and the windows rolled down we headed out into the wind of the high-way. I love the feel of it whipping and tossing my hair anyway it wants to.
We cranked the tunes, bopping our heads to Beastie Boys because Ian said "No freaking way" to Ricky Van Shelton.
I had my feet up on the dashboard while he drove.
We were out in the middle of cornfield on all sides when it happened.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flash of white.
"Oh, Ian!" I yelled. "Stop!"
"Wha-," Ian shouted, as his reflexes just automatically pushed down hard on the brake.
But it was too late.
It was a sensation like pushing your finger into butter when we ran over that cat. It had the sound of squishing too much silly putty between your hands, moist crackling sounds of bones and blood merging.
I sat up-right, hand to mouth, gagging.
"Oh, Ian-," I looked at him through watery eyes. "Stop. The. Car."
"I guess it is not a good time to say 2 points, eh?"
That is when we heard the siren.
Ian looked up at the Officer as he leaned into the open window, resting his thick, hairless forearms on the door. I could see my small reflection in his silver-mirrored sunglasses.
"Hello, officer. What can I do for you?" I had never seen Ian so polite and serious in my life.
"License and registration," the Officer growled.
Ian reached over into the glove box and quickly pulled out the information.
Without a word, the officer took what Ian handed to him and ambled back to his cruiser.
"For fuck," Ian muttered.
"Cat-Killer," I said.
"You realize you hit something back there?" the Officer asked, opening up Ian's door.
"Uh-yes, sir," Ian replied.
"And were you planning on pulling over and going back there to see what you could do about it?"
"Uh-yes, sir, just about to."
He motioned for Ian to get out of the car with his head.
"Oh, good then, I will accompany you. Let's go. The both of you." He smiled sickly at me.
"Oh-I do not want to," I pleaded with my eyes to him.
"Let's go. Now," he replied back evenly.
I slowly opened the car door and put my shaky feet on the gravel shoulder of the road. I took a deep breath and stood.
As we passed by his car, he stopped to unlock his trunk.
Ian and I watched with wide eyes as he pulled out a shovel and white garbage bag.
"Oh," I said.
"What is that for?" Ian asked.
"Boy, do you not know the law? You got to clean-up your own roadkill."
"Oh, uh, alright," said Ian.
"But this here, this is a special case," continued the officer, as we started our small trek back to the cat. "When it appears what you have killed is a pet, you are to make every attempt to find out who the animal belongs to. Failing that, you must take the deceased animal to the local Humane Society and fill out a report about the incident."
"I ain't ever heard of that," said Ian.
"$1500 fine, otherwise," the Officer arched an eyebrow at him.
The cat lay in a bloody mass, pink intestines seemed to squiggle against the hot black road. It's eyeballs gorged out of his flattened skull. The tip of it's tail was the only black on it's white body.
"Nice job you kids did here, huh?" asked the Officer.
"Jesus," I whispered.
"Here you go," the Officer said to Ian, holding out the blue handled shovel. "I will hold the bag open for you."
I looked away. The metal scrapping on the road traveled right up my spine, through my bones, leaving gooseflesh rising on my arms. I looked down and rubbed my neck with both hands, trying to block out the sound, feeling the stirring deep in my belly.
The only house to be seen was a little red one, less then a hundred feet away.
"We go there," the Officer pointed, handing Ian the little white bag.
"Come on, man," Ian begged. "This is crazy."
"I know you are not mocking the law," the Officer peered over his sunglasses into Ian's eyes.
"You can knock on the door, there, Miss," he said to me when we approached the house.
"Me?" I squeaked. "What did I do?"
"Does it look like I am here to play games?" the Officer questioned me.
I turned and knocked on the glass of the white screen door.
A Little Old Lady with curly grey hair, barely standing five foot approached the door and opened it. She was in a green and orange flowered nightgown.
"Oh!" she sputtered. "Can I help you?"
"Go on," said the Officer to Ian.
"Uh-well, do you own a cat?"
"Oh, sure I do. Little Tootsie is around here somewhere. Why?"
"Uh...uh..well...ummm..." Ian was at a lost for words.
The Officer, annoyed, grabbed the bag from Ian's hands and the Little Old Lady stepped outside.
"Ma'am. We do hate to trouble you, but it seems these kids ran over a cat just a bit ago. Do you suppose you could take the time to ID this cat so we know if it belonged to you."
Her hand came up to clutch her throat, torture started to brew in her blue eyes. "Oh, it can't be Tootsie. I just saw her-." The Little Old Lady's voice cracked and stopped.
"I am sorry, Ma'am. It is procedure."
"Of course," she whispered. She closed her eyes, quickly opening them. "Let's get on with it then."
At arm's length, the Officer held open the bag and the Little Old Lady peered in.
"Oh," she moaned as she took a step back, tears formed in her eyes. "Oh. Oh. Tootsie. Not Tootsie. My Tootsie."
"Ma'am, I am sorry to have to put you through this," the Officer said curtly.
"I am truly all alone now," she covered her eyes with her hands. "She was all I had left in the world. Tootsie." She leaned back against her door. Her body started to shake, her upper arms jiggling, her breasts heaving.
I looked wildly at Ian.
"What do we do?" I whispered.
Ian looked at me, pale-faced. "I have no clue. Oh my God."
I jammed my hands in my pocket, feeling the twenty dollar bill I had brought with me.
The Little Old Lady was sobbing loudly.
"How much you got?" I hissed at Ian.
"Huh?" he asked.
"I got twenty."
Realization dawned in Ian's eyes. "Give it to me."
I handed it over as he fished into his own pocket.
"Ma'am?" Ian spoke.
She slowly looked up at him.
"Ma'am, I feel really bad about this. I did try to stop. It was just...just too late. I know I cannot bring Tootsie back, but I have $50 here. I know it is not much, but maybe it will buy you another cat."
"Another cat?" she asked, aghast. "No, I do not think so. But I will take that money."
Ian held it out to her and she took it with her pale, veiny hands.
The Officer rushed forward, pulling the Little Old Lady's hands behind her back, snapping on the handcuffs.
"What the hell are you doing?" I screamed.
"I am arresting her," the Officer seethed at me.
The world started to spin as I choked out "Oh, my God! What for?"
Calmly, the Officer pulled off his sunglasses and looked me square in the eyes. He licked his lips and opened his mouth.
"For selling pussy."
Comments
Surely you will burn in hell for that one, girlie!
OMG! You got me!
(about five minutes after sitting in complete dismay, I finally just cracked up laughing. It has been a horrible day. It feels better now. Thank you...)
:)
Thinking about my own cat who was hit by a car... I remember the day it happened. My dad had picked me up at the train station, and as we were driving home, he said to me, "I buried George today."
I paused. I was very sad. But of course, I had to be strong - after all, I was with my dad....
My reply: "Was he dead?"
Q