The Ann Arbor Cat Napper #8

Our hero was crawling through very low scrub brush along the side of a building, he could hear at once the close and distant cat’s meow. He also heard the Fixer punching the bushes and closing in behind him. He tried to dragged himself as fast as he could. The meows and the thrashing grew louder and louder.

“Kid yer sum piece a work.” The Manager said. Once again Jim had no idea where he was. He knew it was just his over active fantasy world. He developed this form of escape when he was doing things he didn’t really want to. He looked up and saw the Fixer starring back at him wearing his “I just buggered your dog and your next.” look.

“I could give a shit how you spend your days, creep. But this day’s almost over and where’s Cuddles?”

“Fuck man!” Jim said. As he pulled himself out of the hedge and got to his feet. Where he immediately found himself again after the Fixer grabbed him, told him to watch his language and pushed. He got pretty scratched up while trying to catch himself before he landed. “Ow.” he heard himself say. The Fixer and Manager starred at Jim like they were watching the most amazingly stupid event in history.

“Damn it!” The Manager snorted. He grabbed Jim’s arm and pulled him up. “Where’s Cuddles?”

“I donno. But two other cats are missing.” Jim felt a sudden dizziness while he realized he’d said the wrong thing. The Fixer was winding up for another swing and The Manager looked as though he might join in.

“Got a problem of focus, here.” Jim could see The Fixer’s hand on its way to the back of his head. He ducked just in time. The Fixer wasn’t quite that slow, he swung his foot and hit the back of Jim’s knee. Jim dropped.

“Crap. Com’on. I’m on the case.”

“This ain’t makin’ it quick, Butthead.” If Jim didn’t want to get off the ground he would have protested. It’s time to cut this meeting short.

“I gotta idea.” Jim said and crawled back, slowly. When he was out of reach, he got up and ran away.

Let ’em go. The little prick better find my cat.

“Find my cat! You Fuck!” The Manager kicked the dirt and turned toward the Fixer.

Jim stopped about two blocks away. He started walking in the opposite direction than The Fixer and The Manager. Late afternoon was bringing out more people. Students and townies walked around looking for something to do. Something besides spending money in the over priced stores. In a small town, townies usually recognized each other. Here, not a chance. Everyone was too involved with their own lives. Jim couldn’t remember anyone anyway. Right now he’d like to see a friendly face. He can’t go to his apartment, not until the bruisers leave the neighborhood. He didn’t want to talk with anyone for fear of another missing cat. He found a bench close by and decided to take a minute to think it through. Only the black and white connection with these cats. All three were somehow conveniently, coxed to go with the cat-napper. Why only black and whites? Jim was just starting into fantasy land when he saw a blue plum of smoke rising up from the parking lot across the street.

One use of the words bungie cord is to describe a rubber strap with hooks on either end used to hold things to the back of a vehicle.

A moped is a human operated, motorized device used as transportation from one point to another.

A milk crate is made of hard plastic and is used to conveniently hold 4 gallons of milk or 8 paper quart containers. However the crates are more likely to be found holding up short planks of wood acting as not so temporary shelving or strapped to the back of mopeds to transport items from point A to point B.

As he packed cans of cat food and a bag of chips into the almost full milk crate strapped to the back of his moped, Reinfeld Dogtree Westinghouse almost thought that using milk crates as storage for transport a very good idea.  Instead he was thinking about how lucky he was. He found three black and white cats all within a couple of blocks. He cased out the area for days, knowing the cats lived there. His hope was to get one at a time when they were let out. One person losing a cat wasn’t a really big deal. Three at once that was special. He couldn’t wait to tell the story.

Reinfeld pushed the bags into the milk crate. The other occupants meowed their disapproval. He put on his oversized crash helmet and started the moped causing a large puff of blue smoke. Some in the parking lot sneered. Reinfeld was having a great day and didn’t care

Cuddles, Boots and Mittens had no idea of the various forms of technology being used to generally make their lives uncomfortable and they certainly didn’t like it being strapped to the back of a moped to transport them.


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