The Cat
Many of you probably don’t know this and maybe I shouldn’t admit it. In about
1980 I got really burned out working in the Medical Laboratory and began to
pursue a job in Laboratory sales. Perhaps due to the tight job market at the
time or my lack of appropriate experience, I was unable to find a job in that
industry. An acquaintance from one of the labs where I once worked had gone into
insurance sales and encouraged me to do the same. I should have known better.
For the most part, I lost all respect for the insurance industry and most of the
people in it. I did however acquire a few good friends and had some pretty good
times.
The insurance office I worked out of in Austin, Texas had a couple of big live oaks out back that had managed to escape the construction bulldozer. If you walked out the back door of the office past the oaks you ended up in the parking lot of a convenience store and an adjoining liquor store. About once a week (more for some), in the late afternoon 4 or 5 of us from the office would make this walk out but only make the return trip as far as the shade of the oak trees. There was a stone wall there just about the right height to sit with your beverage and solve the current problems of the world or complain about your sales manager.
I remember best the late spring days with a few wild flowers coming up through broken patches of asphalt behind the 2 stores. Kevin with a Michelob Light, Joe with a quart of malt liquor, me usually with a Mexican beer, a few occasional others with various drinks and Mosell (can’t recall his first name) with his drink. Mosell would always get a cup of ice, a Coke and a half-pint of Southern Comfort. He would pour the cup about half full of Coke and then fill it with the whiskey. Then he would take off his glasses, wipe off the plastic earpiece on his shirt or the back of his tie and stir his drink. He would then reverse the process to replace his glasses.
Joe was definitely the most interesting of our little group. He was the one that always made this trip multiple times per week. Although I never understood the exact details, Joe had played football at Notre Dame for 2 years and then came to the University of Texas and played for 2 years. This was sometime in the Mid to late 60s. I always thought that Joe would have been much happier if he had remained as a high school coach than as an insurance agent. I guess he chose insurance for purely economic reasons. The malt liquor seemed to help him cope with the insurance business. Joe was a great friend to almost all that knew him and had a thousand stories and jokes. We never got tired of his stories.
The following I will tell as Joe and as I remember him telling it. (with my own slight embellishments for the details I can't recall)
It was just after I came to work here in the insurance business. My wife and I had driven out to Taylor to have Bar B Que. Even though it was about 40 miles, there was a little Bar B Que joint that was well worth the trip. We had finished eating and were headed back to Austin in my trusty Valiant (Joe drove this pale green 63 Plymouth Valiant for about 20 years).
Just before you get out of the city limits of Taylor, there is long curve with houses on either side. I was just about half way through this curve when a gray striped cat runs across the road directly under the Valiant. We felt the thud somewhere near right front tire. I looked into the mirror and saw a little boy about 8 years old run out in the road to the cat.
I pulled to the right and backed closer to the boy and his cat and got out my car. The boy was really upset, tears starting to roll down his face. I looked down at the cat, now being held by the boy. There was a little blood smeared on the boy's arm but the cat didn’t appear to have any serious injury. I said, "Sorry about your cat son, how bad does he appear to be hurt? Lets have a look at him."
Between stifled sobs he managed to get out "I know it’s not your fault Mister, but look at his tail." He turned the cat around to show me. The cats tail was broken and partially severed about an inch and a half past his cat butt. This appeared to be his only injury.
"Son, your cat appears to be OK except for his tail. A lot of cats live very fine lives without tails. Let me get out my pocket knife and we can just finish cutting off the tail and he will be the best bob tailed gray cat in Taylor"
"Nooooo" he now wailed "I don’t want my cat to lose his tail"
I thought for a just a minute and then told the boy. "Maybe we can do something. Let’s walk over to my car." We saw a couple of neighbors walk out toward the streets to see what was going on but all seemed disinterested and soon walked away without saying anything or even coming out to where we were.
From my coaching days I still had a few miscellaneous things thrown in the back of my car. I opened the car trunk and found a roll of white adhesive tape and a plastic finger splint. I took my pocketknife and cut about a 3-inch section of the splint. I then turned and sat down on the edge of the open trunk and asked "Hey son what’s your name anyway? If you can hold your cat still with his butt towards me for a minute I think we can do something for that tail."
"My name is Joe," he said as he turned the cat around. He had stopped crying and had the typical 8-yr old fascination with the roll of tape, the splint and the pocketknife.
"My name is Joe too, but I never had a cat like this one" After some amount of struggling with a wiggling and scratching cat. I managed to get the splint and about 4 inches tape applied to the cat’s tail. The boy and I received only minor, but numerous scratches. "I think your cat is going to do just fine," I said as I handed the cat back to the boy.
"Just as I handed the cat back to the boy, a black and white highway patrol car came from the opposite direction that I had been traveling. He slowed, looking at us, went past 20 or 30 yards then made a quick U turn. He turned on his flashing lights and stopped right behind my car and got out. And can you believe, that the son of a bitch, gave me a ticket."
Joe’s story ended here and he took another sip of his malt liquor.
I think we were all a little puzzled, but as I remember it was Kevin that asked the question. "Joe, you mean he actually gave you a ticket? Why? What possible violation?"
Joe took one more sip and replied "Retailing pussy on a State Highway."
The insurance office I worked out of in Austin, Texas had a couple of big live oaks out back that had managed to escape the construction bulldozer. If you walked out the back door of the office past the oaks you ended up in the parking lot of a convenience store and an adjoining liquor store. About once a week (more for some), in the late afternoon 4 or 5 of us from the office would make this walk out but only make the return trip as far as the shade of the oak trees. There was a stone wall there just about the right height to sit with your beverage and solve the current problems of the world or complain about your sales manager.
I remember best the late spring days with a few wild flowers coming up through broken patches of asphalt behind the 2 stores. Kevin with a Michelob Light, Joe with a quart of malt liquor, me usually with a Mexican beer, a few occasional others with various drinks and Mosell (can’t recall his first name) with his drink. Mosell would always get a cup of ice, a Coke and a half-pint of Southern Comfort. He would pour the cup about half full of Coke and then fill it with the whiskey. Then he would take off his glasses, wipe off the plastic earpiece on his shirt or the back of his tie and stir his drink. He would then reverse the process to replace his glasses.
Joe was definitely the most interesting of our little group. He was the one that always made this trip multiple times per week. Although I never understood the exact details, Joe had played football at Notre Dame for 2 years and then came to the University of Texas and played for 2 years. This was sometime in the Mid to late 60s. I always thought that Joe would have been much happier if he had remained as a high school coach than as an insurance agent. I guess he chose insurance for purely economic reasons. The malt liquor seemed to help him cope with the insurance business. Joe was a great friend to almost all that knew him and had a thousand stories and jokes. We never got tired of his stories.
The following I will tell as Joe and as I remember him telling it. (with my own slight embellishments for the details I can't recall)
It was just after I came to work here in the insurance business. My wife and I had driven out to Taylor to have Bar B Que. Even though it was about 40 miles, there was a little Bar B Que joint that was well worth the trip. We had finished eating and were headed back to Austin in my trusty Valiant (Joe drove this pale green 63 Plymouth Valiant for about 20 years).
Just before you get out of the city limits of Taylor, there is long curve with houses on either side. I was just about half way through this curve when a gray striped cat runs across the road directly under the Valiant. We felt the thud somewhere near right front tire. I looked into the mirror and saw a little boy about 8 years old run out in the road to the cat.
I pulled to the right and backed closer to the boy and his cat and got out my car. The boy was really upset, tears starting to roll down his face. I looked down at the cat, now being held by the boy. There was a little blood smeared on the boy's arm but the cat didn’t appear to have any serious injury. I said, "Sorry about your cat son, how bad does he appear to be hurt? Lets have a look at him."
Between stifled sobs he managed to get out "I know it’s not your fault Mister, but look at his tail." He turned the cat around to show me. The cats tail was broken and partially severed about an inch and a half past his cat butt. This appeared to be his only injury.
"Son, your cat appears to be OK except for his tail. A lot of cats live very fine lives without tails. Let me get out my pocket knife and we can just finish cutting off the tail and he will be the best bob tailed gray cat in Taylor"
"Nooooo" he now wailed "I don’t want my cat to lose his tail"
I thought for a just a minute and then told the boy. "Maybe we can do something. Let’s walk over to my car." We saw a couple of neighbors walk out toward the streets to see what was going on but all seemed disinterested and soon walked away without saying anything or even coming out to where we were.
From my coaching days I still had a few miscellaneous things thrown in the back of my car. I opened the car trunk and found a roll of white adhesive tape and a plastic finger splint. I took my pocketknife and cut about a 3-inch section of the splint. I then turned and sat down on the edge of the open trunk and asked "Hey son what’s your name anyway? If you can hold your cat still with his butt towards me for a minute I think we can do something for that tail."
"My name is Joe," he said as he turned the cat around. He had stopped crying and had the typical 8-yr old fascination with the roll of tape, the splint and the pocketknife.
"My name is Joe too, but I never had a cat like this one" After some amount of struggling with a wiggling and scratching cat. I managed to get the splint and about 4 inches tape applied to the cat’s tail. The boy and I received only minor, but numerous scratches. "I think your cat is going to do just fine," I said as I handed the cat back to the boy.
"Just as I handed the cat back to the boy, a black and white highway patrol car came from the opposite direction that I had been traveling. He slowed, looking at us, went past 20 or 30 yards then made a quick U turn. He turned on his flashing lights and stopped right behind my car and got out. And can you believe, that the son of a bitch, gave me a ticket."
Joe’s story ended here and he took another sip of his malt liquor.
I think we were all a little puzzled, but as I remember it was Kevin that asked the question. "Joe, you mean he actually gave you a ticket? Why? What possible violation?"
Joe took one more sip and replied "Retailing pussy on a State Highway."
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