Scooter, the Black Cat
Kathleene Runnels is responsible for this content, which is not edited by the Wilson County News or wilsoncountynews.com.
I love cats. And I’ve always had a cat. My first one after we married was a darling little black tom named Scooter. I was teaching at Dwight Junior High in San Antonio, and one afternoon after work, I had to pick up my friend Brenda then go by the vet clinic to retrieve Scooter from having had his shots. But next I had to run an errand into town, into downtown SA, to take care of some business or other at the courthouse. Did I mention that it was downtown?
So, Scooter, Brenda and I made the short trip to the crowded, parking-spot-less, downtown destination. Not without much ado, we finally found a parallel slot along the street. We left the car with Scooter to stand guard; doors locked; windows closed with just enough space for fresh air. (Not to worry; it wasn’t a hot day.)
Now did I fail to mention that we were in a small, albeit sporty, 1967 Ford Mustang? If any of you have ever driven one of those babies, and I’m sure there are many today who would love the opportunity, (and just let me interject here that we had no idea what a treasure we had), you know that they are anything but roomy. Small front with minimal leg room; limited back seat space; totally not spacious or family-friendly.
I give you that image because no child, no purse, no treasure, can easily be hidden from view in a 1967 Mustang. Keeping that tidbit in mind, know that once our short errand had been accomplished, we returned to the car to discover there was no cat anywhere to be found! OH, NO! My precious Cat! My only child! My family friend....GONE! But where? And how? We searched up and down the street. We whistled. We hollered. We called, “Kitty, kitty, kitty.” We gave no regard to image or decorum. My cat was missing, and obviously he was in grave danger!
Finally, in despair, heads down, hearts heavy, tears flowing, we gave up the hunt and returned again to the car. When lo, what to our wondering eyes should appear but the wayward cat! Scooter! INSIDE the car! Huh? What? Now, we were beyond perplexed. It’s kind of like, you know, when your husband can’t be found and you’re worried sick and when he shows up, perfectly sound, you want to kill him? Yeah. That’s about it.
But, truthfully, we were, at least I was, so relieved; confused, but relieved. We went on home with cat safely on board. No harm done. Cat, oblivious.
It was about six months later when someone opened the glove compartment and Voila: cat hair! Scooter-the-Houdini-Cat had crawled up behind the glove box and maneuvered in from the back side. And ignored our calls. Smug little feline! Who could have known?