It was a sunny morning in the gaybourhood today and I was on a mission. We have been without peanut butter for weeks now, possibly months, and this morning, Katr expressed a craving that could no longer be denied. Also, we were out of margarine. Also, we needed lemon poppyseed loaf. So I strapped on my very unsexy yet insanely comfortable SAS sandals and headed down our street to the Fresh Mart, making a mental note to avoid those fancy lookin' chocolate bars..
I was about halfway down our block when I spotted a slightly dishevelled gentleman in a sky blue, button-down shirt and flip flops wander out onto the sidewalk. I did not detect any pants on this man and was about to cross the street; unlike most of the residents in our 'hood, I prefer not to start the day with "penis surprise". But before I could make my move, he called out to me, "Excuse me!" and as I got closer, I could see he was a little panicked.
"Are you," he said, with a lovely Australian accent, "are you, by any chance . . . a cat lady?"
I don't know what I was expecting him to ask me. "Do you have a light?" or "Have you seen my pants?" or perhaps "Do you know the way to San Jose?" "Are you, by any chance, a cat lady?" was not on the list. I sort of gaped at him for a moment while I tried to decide if he was insulting me. My first instinct was to a) immediately blurt out: "What? Just because I'm fat and in the gaybourhood and wearing SAS sandals and no makeup and have fuzzy hair, you think I'm a cat lady?" and then b) whack his pantless ass with my duck purse.
But instead I paused to give it some thought. IS "cat lady" really considered an insult or just is it an affectionate, if somewhat contemptuous, term for ladies with more than one cat? Does it depend on the context? Am I giving off a cat lady vibe? If yes, does that bother me? Should I hook myself up with one of these action figures? And sweet lavendar lord, where were this man's PANTS?
"You see," he rushed on, noting the confusion and consternation on my face, "I am a dog man."
"Are you a HOTdog man?" I thought, as I tried not to glance in the direction of his junk.
"And you see, I was looking after a friend's cat. And you see, the cat has run off. And I thought that if you were a cat lady, you know, you might know . . . how cats think and where . . . this cat might have got to," he finished lamely.
"Ohhh," I said, my indignation waning,"I see. I'm really sorry about the cat. But no, I am not a cat lady. In fact, I am allergic to cats and know very little of their habits."
"Okay," he sadly, "thanks."
I got his name, apartment number and a description of the cat (grey, answers to "Lulu", for any of you local readers), and advised him to put up a description at the Fresh Mart and other shops along Church Street. I also suggested that he might try opening a tin of tuna and making kissing noises like Steve Martin in Roxanne. He agreed that these were good ideas. I made some more noises of sympathy and then he went back inside and I continued on my way, keeping my eye out for the cat.
I felt sorry for the pantsless man. It's horrible enough losing one's own pet; losing someone ELSE's pet seems, to me, almost worse. So I mentioned the missing cat to the barristas and folks in line with me at the coffee shop. They all looked at me like I was a cat lady. Then we were all distracted by a "bitch lady" who characterized the cashier's inability to find a plastic fork for her fig loaf in a timely manner as "very disappointing". Jesus Christ, lady - are your fingers broken? Use your hands!
I also mentioned the missing cat to the cashier at the Fresh Mart and told her that Dog Man may come by with a notice later on. She clucked sympathetically. Then she turned around to tell the other cashier and I don't speak Cantonese, but I'm pretty sure she told the other cashier that "this cat lady has lost her cat". Then the other cashier clucked sympathetically and then they didn't charge me for the cream. Which was nice.
Wending my way home, I made a few little detours, hoping to flush Lulu out. I hoped that some nice cat lady had found her. I laughed heartily my own stupid pun when I decided that next time someone asks if I'm a cat lady, I can reply "well, I like a lot of pussy". And I considered stopping by Dog Man's apartment to suggest that perhaps when he found his pants, he'd find Lulu too. Then I decided that this would be funny only to me.
It wasn't until I got home that I realized I had forgotten the peanut butter. Effing cat.
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