Cats… Freedom on the Freeway

    My father is a fan of saving a buck or two. When I was growing up that meant collecting spare cans and never turning on a single light. I’m really good at seeing in the dark. That also means instead of fancy toys, growing up, we had cats, lots of cats. My mom didn’t buy me dolls. She sewed me doll clothes from scratch and I put the doll clothes on the cats. I loved it! I hope someday if I ever have children they get to do the same awesome mountain things I did as a child. I had hobbies like building off road race tracks for my monster big wheels trucks in the dirt with my brothers. My parents let us play with box cutters and we would sharpen tree branches into spears and spend our days collecting acorns like Pocahontas. My parents did warn us acorns were poisonous to humans.
   So our family was working class, not having a lot of money, we would drive down off the mountain to get a car full of cats at a time their shots at the Humane Society. The day of the infamous crazed cats in the car incident , I  seem to recall right after all the cats were poked and prodded, we left all the cats in the car and my Dad took us bowling. I clearly remember this because it was the one and only time in my life I enjoyed bowling. So we just left three angry, recently prodded and poked cats in a hot car in the desert town of San Bernardino. Thank god the local homies didn’t steal our angry cats!
   After a fun morning of bowling it was time to head home. The cats were angry and yowly, so my Dad thought we should let them ALL out of their carriers through out his tiny Honda Civic. Keep in mind, this Honda Civic also had three children in it. Lets just say the cats went bat shit crazy. I can still remember my huge long haired calico jumping on my Dad, claws extended and my Dad howling in pain, and trying not to swerve into traffic. Yes, the cats were quickly corralled and returned to their carriers before we made the twelve mile drive back up the mountain.

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