Yesterday I decided that I deserved to have a relaxing and delicious breakfast before I went to work. It was 65 degrees F and sunny, and I thought to myself, "Self, I think it would be a lovely morning for a breakfast croissant." However, my plan to simply walk out the door is never quite as simple as I should hope. I noticed Fidget eyeballing me as I put on my shoes and picked up my purse. We had a sort of stare-down in the hallway...an awkward silence. He non-verbally challenged me, unwavering, almost as if to say, "I'm going with you...RIGHT?!" After a very long two minute pause, I finally caved and invited him to accompany me to breakfast. After all, I prefer not to eat alone.
We wound our way through the quaint, although painfully pretentious shopping center that is adjacent to our apartment. Passing by the outdoor seating of restaurants and ridiculously overpriced retail stores, we received looks and gawks from the stoic, corporate gentlemen bickering over the check, as well as the flocks of spoiled trophy wives, who I'm certain are at least 40% plastic. I parked Fidget in his stroller at the most pefect outside table (half in the sun for me, half in the shade for Fatty) and went inside to order our...uhm...my breakfast. I returned with a cup of hot Earl Grey and a cup of water for my feline breakfast companion. While waiting for my croissant, I hitched Fat-In-The-Box to his harness and retractable leash and opened the stroller for him to explore. The ladies sitting inside the cafe were observing through the window in what can only be described as shock and awe. I checked my email on my phone and Fidget padded around the patio. He got his leash tangled in a chair, spilled the entire contents of his water cup, ate a bug, played with some mulch, and then eventually settled down a few feet away from our table to watch the traffic go by.
Suddenly, Fidget began...dancing? He was up on his two back legs, flailing like a freshly caught halibut. This continued until I realized...he's trying to get his harness off! And goshdarnit, before another moment had passed, I watched my robust cat slip out of his harness like he was a greased pig. I ran to him, and he ran from me under a table. So I ran over there, and he ran from me to a different table. So I ran over there, and he ran from me beside a bush. I finally composed myself and walked over to him slowly, nonchalantly--he didn't suspect a thing. I snatched him up just as he was about to nom on a tasty leaf, placed his lard-ass back in the stroller and gave him a healthy talking to. Do I care if I look certifiably insane because I talk to my cat, who walks on a leash and has his own stroller? In truth, no. But I'm well aware that I was outside the realm of "normal."
At long last, my croissant arrived and I enjoyed it while sharing tiny pieces of ham with Fat-for-Brains. During this time, Fidget made several new friends, including the waitress, some dude who yelled out, "cool cat" from his camo-lined F-350, the busboy, and a nice couple from Louisiana who told me all about their two cats at home (Louie and Linus, I believe). In addition to being my ham-loving companion, Fidget is also a wonderful conversation piece. He's drawn a crowd more than once, and people seem to immediately bond with the big stripey cat who demands to see as much of the world as possible. I have to say, I appreciate that my cat and I share a similar sentiment on life: No man (or cat) can experience the world through a window.
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