Got out while I was bringing all the groceries inside.
Went for a walkabout, on those skinny, crooked legs.
Squinted in the hot bright sunlight coming up the stairs to the deck.
Then lay stretched out as far as she could stretch, looking for all the world like a miniature tiger rug, if tigers came in the colours of a calico cat.
Every time she lifted her head to look up at me affectionately, I laughed out loud at her, as her little face looked all lopsided, the fur on the side she was lying on pressed flat against her skull, giving her a comical expression.
Dear little cat.
A kindness for today
At the checkout counter at the grocery store I chose the wrong cashier, you know when you are standing in the queue and you realise you've made a misguided decision, but you've already committed yourself to this line and perhaps you've already started unpacking your carriage/trolley. But you watch the cashier looking puzzled and working really slowly, unsure of everything, and your heart sinks.
So you carry on unpacking your full carriage, hopefully optimistic that things will work out when she gets to your stuff. You notice an old man watching you unpack, he is in the next line, and you look up a couple of times, because he is staring at you. Then he mouths, "Nice." And you wonder what he means. He is standing with his wife, who seems to be in charge of unpacking and paying, he is just a hanger-on. He keeps on staring, and eventually you look up again into his eyes and he mouths, "You look nice." and you mouth "Thank you" without thinking, because he has just paid you a compliment. You wonder briefly if he is a dirty old man, but he turns away then, helps his wife as they leave the store, and you feel sure that he was genuine, you decide he was because it makes you feel good.
And of course you are still stuck in the store, with the WORST CASHIER IN THE WORLD. Finally she starts on your items, and you discover that she is teamed with the WORST PACKER in the world. I have nothing against mentally challenged people, but I bring all my own bags, which are large and roomy and can carry a lot, then I carefully unpack my groceries in order so that all the cold things will go together, all the vegetables are at the end so they don't get bruised by having canned goods stacked on top of them, for example. He treats my ecologically sound bags like small plastic bags, putting in just a few items and then plonking them haphazardly in the carriage. I take out a few and tell him he can put more things in them, but he finishes them and starts using the dreaded plastic bags for the rest, which is so unnecessary. I don't want to seem like I am being nasty to a mentally challenged person, so I grit my teeth and leave him be.
At last, it seems like hours later, everything has gone through the cashier's hands, through the packer's hands, into the bags, and it is time to pay. The total is $214.65. She asks if I want cash back. I say "Yes, forty please," in my best American accent, because people don't understand forty how I say it. She thinks for a long time and then rings up $244.65 and asks me to hit the "yes" button to approve it. I know this is wrong and she will get into trouble for the loss of $10 to her till, so I say helpfully, "No, it's 254." She looks at me furiously, "You want $50 now?" and I smile nicely and repeat that it is 254 and her total is wrong. After a long time spent staring at the screen, saying, "But 214 + 40 is 244, isn't it?" she realises her mistake and rectifies it, only she hits the wrong button and the slip starts twirling out of the machine, without me having done my little sliding-the-card bit. She looks angry and scared and calls the managing cashier, tells her that she thought I was giving cash and so sent it through as a cash sale. I keep quiet and let them think it is my fault, follow the managing cashier obediently as she pulls the front of my carriage through the crowds to CUSTOMER SERVICE, where we wait patiently for another 15 minutes until we can be served.
I felt so sorry for her in the end, those sad eyes, that empty face.
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