It was about two weeks ag0. I had a delivery to make in the south-east part of town. It was bitter cold. Winds blew my cap off and I slipped on the ice trying to retrieve it. Down I went…on my bad elbow. The pain shot straight to my mouth which in turn shouted some pretty bad stuff. Slowly, begrudgingly, I stood, both in pain and embarrassed. My cap had blown into the frigged creek, I had torn my coat sleeve, and two motorists sat in their cars amused. I don’t know where ‘mad’ comes from, but it found me, and I was pissed. I don’t know what I was mad at, the ice, the wind, my clumsiness, whatever, mad had me and I need to vent.
I made my delivery and upon returning to my car found a scrawny cat sitting by the door, meowing like I was his savior. Still mad, I pushed passed him, and drove away.
Now friends, you don’t know me. Animals have been a significant part of my life for all my life. On any other day, I would have scooped that cat into my arms and taken him to my home, it would have been his kitty heaven. But for some stupid reason, because I was still ‘mad’ for falling and making a general fool of myself, I drove home empty handed.
I couldn’t sleep that night. And I could barely wait for daybreak. As soon as the sun brightened, I headed for south-east hills. I spent most of the morning calling for him, but he wasn’t to be found.
I still worry about him, wondering if he found a home, or if he is still wandering about.
There’s always a price to pay for ‘mad.’ I should have known better.
Cesare Brai’s photo.
The Bog 