Poetry / The Spoken Word

He was still a very small kitty. Just as cute as a button. He was 2.5 months old. I took him to pet smart to be weighed, as he was in need of milk, and food, and I wanted to give him adequate portions. So the store clerk took him to the back where the scale was. The scale was huge, big enough for a St. Bernard, but it was calibrated so that it could properly weigh Beanpie. OK, so he was pretty good about that old chestnut. The drama came when he got off the scale, he got so excited seeing the birdcages, smelling hamsters, and such. I had to keep him from jumping out of my arms, I rushed to my car. Sat in the front seat with him. He was still antsy, so I turned him loose. Do you know he climbed into my dashboard, from underneath the steering wheel? OMG, I tried to catch him, by his tail, he just kept going. He stayed inside that dashboard for 5 hours, I had to drive home thinking that the mechanics of the steering wheel were ripping him to shreads. Ocassionally, he'd meow. I felt absolutely horrible like I was killing him. I called the fire dept, all they said was "we can smash the dashboard for you". I was like, ssppptaaaah! I think not, period. Gone are the days of big strong firemen rescueing helpless kitties outa' trees, go figure.

So I went outside, got upside down in my car feet up to the roof, head underneath the dashboard, and took catnip into a straw, and kept spreading, and blowing and shooting it out from the straw into the open space, then he starting playing with the straw, and he must have started feeling the nip coz brother man finally just tumbled out like a little goof. I read him the riot act. He came into the house, ate, had a nice poop, and we never discussed it again.