MR. PUSSYKINS

"You will do as I tell you and transport both of them in their car to New Orleans.  Am I clear, you stupid sonuvabitch?" came the bellow from my boss Riff.

"I get it, but I don't understand."

"Don't try!  Don't strain your brain!  Just do as you're told."  Riff hung up first for a change, and I pondered his instruction.  He had told me to pick up an SUV and drive it and the lady who owned it to Louisiana from New Hampshire.  And she would be bringing her cat.  I love dogs, but I don't have the same loving relationship with cats.   Over the years, I have been bitten and scratched deeply by many of my friend's cats, and they can seem content being petted, then spin and surprise you with all claws and teeth.  The thing of it is, Drivers of America is not licensed to carry passengers.  Riff was getting a very good paycheck for this, and I was sure I wouldn't see any of it.  Nothing but the 40 cents per mile he normally paid me.

When I arrived at her house in New Hampshire on the day after Thanksgiving, she came out the front door and seemed very much in distress.  "Are you Bill?  You are late, we need to get going."

I checked the time.  "My boss told me to be here by noon.  It's ten till now."

"Don't be ridiculous, you're wasting time."  I followed her into the house.  "I am Doris Ooglerupe, and I will thank you to call me by my name."  She had a shock of red hair and a deeply wrinkled face.

"OK, Mrs. Ooglerupe."

She spun around and her eyes narrowed.  "That's MISS.  I earned that right by outliving my husband, the dirty bastard."  As I walked through her home, I saw huge piles of magazines nearly as tall as me everywhere.  There was also a very strange smell, and it wasn't a good one.  "You may notice that I save a lot of stuff, and some might be tempted to call me a hoarder.  But I hate those people.  Now I'm going to pack, why don't you go wash the dishes in the kitchen so we can get going."

"You haven't packed yet?" I asked, fearing it would heavily delay our departure.

"Don't be so nosey, and get yourself into the kitchen, those dishes won't wash themselves."  I went into the kitchen and saw dirty dishes stacked high in the sink, on the counter, everywhere.  I rolled up my sleeves and got started, because it would be better than sitting and twiddling my thumbs.  An hour later, I was just getting finished when Doris came in and told me it was time to pack the car.  I began the process, having no idea that she would have so much stuff.  After all of the bags and boxes had been loaded, she handed me a pet carrier with her precious cat inside.  "Your boss said he insists that Mr. Pussykins must stay in her cage while the car is moving.  Which is just silly and ridiculous, she does what she wants when she wants."

As we began our long journey, Doris began to poke me in the shoulder peridodically, sometimes saying "Slow down" and other times saying "Speed up."  I did not enjoy the poking one bit, but when I tried to politely tell her she began telling me stories about her years as a nurse in Viet Nam, and all the men she helped to save, and all the intestines she saw falling out onto the floor, and having to saw someone's arm off when they were out of anesthesia.  They were truly horrifying stories, full of blood and gore and human suffering, but she had a way of telling them that made them even more disturbing.

Doris began fiddling around in the back seat, and I thought that she was getting something out of a suitcase.  Then I looked over and saw she was holding her cat.  "Hey listen--" I tried to say.

"Somebody was lonely and wanted to come out to play."  She spoke in a nauseating baby talk.  "Mr. Pussykins wants to join the party.  She likes to have fun, too.  Let's have some music, shall we?"  She turned off the radio and began singing the cat food jingle  "Meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow."  The cat moved her head.  "Oh look, Mr. Pussykins is dancing.  She loves to dance."  Doris picked up the cat and began to make it dance.

I did my best to ignore them both, which was easier to do as we drove by New York City and down the Jersey turnpike, both swamped with traffic.  The cat crawled into my lap and put its paws on the steering wheel.  "Hey, this is dangerous" I protested.

Once again, baby talk from Doris.  "Oh look.  Mr. Pussykins thinks she can drive.  Isn't that just the most adorable thing you've ever seen in your life?"

"The cat must be put away," I said firmly.

"But Mr. Pussykins thinks she's a person, she wants to be out with us.  And I think we have to afford her all the rights and privileges of every other human being."

"But she is not human."

Doris looked thunderstruck.  "How dare you!  What a terrible thing to say."  She hugged the cat for a while and remained very quiet.  I was relishing this quiet time, and wondered just how long it could possibly last.  After an hour, Doris poked me in the shoulder and said,  "Mr. Pussykins has decided to forgive you.  You hurt her, but she has a sweet and forgiving disposition... lucky for you!"  The cat began to crawl all over the car, then got up on the dash and dropped some kitty crap.  Doris got very excited.  "Oh look, Mr. Pussykins brought you a very special present that she made all by herself.  She loves you!"

"Can you please clean that off the dash?"

"What's your rush?  Don't you want to appreciate your gift?"

"No, not at all, not for one more second."

"Somebody is a grumpy gus, isn't he, Mr. Pussykins.  Say, did I ever tell you that I was originally going to name my cat Morris, like the cat on the TV commercials.  But since my cat is a girl, Morris seemed like a silly name.  It's all wrong, it's a boy's name."   She suddenly stopped speaking and closed her eyes. I didn't know if she was just so tired she passed out, or if she was doing some type of meditation.  Either way, I was just glad for some peace for a while.

Two hours later, she sprang to life shouting "Mr. Pussykins!"  She didn't have to look far, the cat was in her lap kneading her woolen pantsuit.  It was scratched up beyond repair, but that was between Doris and her cat.  "Oh, Mr. Pussykins, I just had the worst dream about you.  We were surrounded by at least one hundred rabid dogs, and they were hungry for cat, but I wasn't going to let them take you.  I began to fight, and then Underdog and Mighty Mouse flew in and helped me, and we saved you my sweet little Pussykins."

"Are you OK?" I hesitantly asked Doris.

"Fit as a fiddle.  Did I ever tell you about my husband Horatio?  He was quite a character, and he hated cats.   None moreso than Mr. Pussykins.  He hated that cat since she was just a kitten, and he'd kick her out of the way and never ever pet her when she climbed up into his lap.  I kept on telling him that people who treat cats wrong sometimes wind up with poison in their apple pie.  He argued that he only liked peach pie, so I made him a peach pie."  She got a strange smile on her face.  "God rest his soul."

"What did he die from?"

"Undetermined.  Let's change the subject and talk about something merrier.  Like when Mr. Pussykins got pregnant and had to have an abortion."  That is when I stopped listening, and continued being tuned out all the way to New Orleans.  She kept right on talking, but I wasn't listening.

When we got to her place in New Orleans, she wanted me to unload the SUV that I had just loaded two days before in New Hampshire.  I did the work, and then walked far enough into her house to see it was just like the house up north.  Sky high stacks of magazines everywhere, newspapers from twenty years before, all matter of junk and paraphenalia.  A hoarders paradise.

Once I was done, Doris told me it was time to clean the kitchen and the bathroom.  "No," I said.

"No?"

"No ma'am, its not my job.  I did it in New Hampshire, but now the job is done."  I turned and walked out the front door..  I could hear Doris shrieking for me to wait, wait, please wait.

She came out the front door holding the cat in what looked like an uncomfortable position.  "Mr. Pussykins wants her kiss goodbye."  I held my hand up and waved as I continued heading for the sidewalk, where I'd make my way into downtown New Orleans and pick up my next car.  But as hard as I try, I still can't get that cat jingle out of my head...  "Meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow."