I got out of bed thinking that today was the day the cat would come. It was 7:10 AM.
8:15 AM At the donut shop, I juggled a mixed dozen donuts in one box, a half price blueberry pie leftover from turkey day in another, and a way too sweet coffee in a large styrofoam cup. The coffee has so much cream and sugar its basically a liquefied donut. I never drink much of it. I’m afraid it’ll give me diabetes. The Ukrainian woman at Verna’s slipped me a free slice of lemon meringue pie, which I balanced precariously atop my stack of goodies.
“Would you like a bag?” she asked in her Ukrainian accent. How about a fork, I asked.
“Really?” No. Not really. Back in the car, I started the engine and shoved the entire piece of pie in my mouth. A family getting out of their minivan stared in horror, transfixed, their Sunday morning donut mission ruined by the gila monster feeding. The big lizards choke down their prey in one gulp. The lower half of my face covered in meringue, I drove off, thinking thoughts about that string-loving cat that used to be a feral and has a round head. I wonder if it likes shrimp.
9:20 AM I ate three donuts and chucked my 3/4 full styrofoam cup of coffee into the trash. Gross.
Eric received the text back from Elizabeth at approx. 10 AM Sunday morning. No-go on the cat pick-up. “Next week, OK?”