Wednesday, June 22, 2011

The Pewter Panther’s Brush With the System

He was sprung from the joint at 6:13 pm on Tuesday. Bail was set at $450. He’s scheduled to appear in 10 days. Staff took care of the financial details and met him for out-processing.

Boy, was he ever glad to see his staff.

He does not like that jailer-dude. At all.

Further indignity was visited upon him as staff tried to put him in the transport cage. He displayed his acrobatic prowess and grew three extra paws to lever against imprisonment. He was outnumbered. At least they took him away from the joint.

Forced to endure a ride in the car, he made sure staff was aware of his disapproval all the way home.

Later, staff cornered him and forced vile potion on him.

Buffy, a ginger tabby who is also his litter mate, is still hissing at him.

All in all, it’s good to be home.

Staff’s version of events

Our gray shorthair cat, Smokey Joe, a.k.a. the Pewter Panther, was acting weird and wouldn’t eat so we took him to the vet. They kept him overnight. They called late in the afternoon to say he could go home. He has to eat special food and take amoxicillin. He likes the special food and doesn’t mind the medicine mixed in. No more vile-potioning.

The folks at the vet office call him Grumpy Joe. He really gave them what for. Normally he is the friendliest, most sociable dude on the block. We call him the Doorman because he sits out front and greets everyone who comes by. People all over the neighborhood know Smokey. Even the mailman knows him. Everyone, from the little old ladies next door, to the big tough-looking guys down the street, stops to talk to him. The tough guys look around first to make sure no one is watching, and then they bend down to pet and talk to Smokey. When finished, they straighten up and resume the tough/cool stance. It’s fun to watch.

Smokey’s feeling pretty good but he hasn’t resumed his post yet. If he goes too many days without doorman duties the neighbors start asking if he’s okay. We live in that kind of neighborhood. I still marvel at our luck.

Of course, the bail money was originally slated for car maintenance, but I held off. I listened to that sixth sense that said I’d need the money for something else. Is it a Mom thing? Does it go with being broke most of the time? (Broke means you have a job but no money once the bills are paid. Po’ means no job and no money. Important distinction.)

It’s funny how things work out.

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