I'm not sure if I've mentioned that I'm trying to take up wogging. I needed to up the walking, but wasn't good enough to start jogging yet, so I'm doing my own version of combining the two on most mornings during the week. It sucks, but it's working for me. It was time to ramp it up.
Anyway, I was on my wog this morning and happened upon a lady in her pajamas, looking into her flower bed. It's probably good to note that I'm the random person who waves back at the cars driving by, and I greet the other crazy people who are walking at that ungodly hour of the morning. Well, I certainly wasn't ready for the conversation that followed:
lady: Oh, hi...
genderist: (continuing to wog away)
lady: Excuse me, do you know anything about cats?
genderist: (stopped wogging) A little.
lady: I hate to interrupt your jog. (Man, did I have her fooled!)
genderist: It's okay. What's the problem? (walking up to the porch)
lady: What do you think about that cat? (pointing to the flower bed)
genderist: (looks at back cat laying in the flower bed) (snaps fingers) (notices kitty isn't breathing) I think he's dead.
lady: (gasp) Oh, no! Do you know whose cat this is?
genderist: No. And there's no collar for a hint, either.
lady: (pacing, gasping) This is so sad. (tears up)
genderist: Oh, wait! His eyes are open!
genderist: Nope. Still dead, just with open eyes.
lady: That's what I was afraid of. (tells story about the sick stray kitty finding her family last night, kids falling in love with it, yadda yadda yadda) I don't know what to do. Who do you call when this happens? What do I do? (nearing panic)
genderist: (pause) Well, do you have a shovel and a garbage bag?
lady: Why? (gasp) What are you going to do??
genderist: Throw it away.
lady: (gasp gasp) Oh!
genderist: Unless you want to bury it somewhere in your yard.
lady: No. I don't want that. (gasp, pacing again) (pause) It needs a proper burial.
genderist: We can say a prayer if you want, after we get it bagged.
lady: (pause) I can't ask you to do this.
genderist: It's okay. I can do this.
lady: But I've interrupted your run.
genderist: Do you want to do it?
genderist: Then go get the shovel and the garbage bag. I can do it. I've got time.
lady: Are you sure? I can't ask you to do that.
genderist: M'am, I'm from the country. I can do this.
lady: (returns from getting shovel and bags) I don't know if I can help with this.
genderist: It's okay. Let me see if I can get it without you having to help.
lady: Maybe I can close my eyes and do it?
genderist: Just let me try first. (tries and succeeds without having to have the panic-y stray-cat-lover helping)
lady: Why do you think it died here?
genderist: (brags on her flower bed, how nice her kids must have been to the kitty, etc -- suggested that kitty probably died in her sleep. I didn't believe any of that, but I thought it might ease her panic. It did.)
genderist: (hands the garbage bag of dead kitty to the lady)
lady: Do I just throw it away?
genderist: I can take it and throw it away at my house, if you want.
lady: No, I can do it. (bravely takes the bag of dead kitty to the garage)
genderist: (wogs away)
* I was going to post this story this morning, but time was too crunched to blog of the wog.
* I've never actually thrown away a dead cat. But our cat used to bring up lots of dead things that we had to get rid of. And I've thrown away dead birds since I've lived in OKC. And I dissected a cat once in A&P (cat: the other other white meat). I thought it was enough experience to muddle through, which it was.
* Please don't call me to come to your house and dispose of your dead pets. I mean, of course I'd come help, but it's not something I plan on taking up as a passtime.
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