Hit & Run

Yesterday while at work and moving from one spot to another on my route, I was sitting at the traffic light at a busy corner near a popular shopping mall. This street has a bike-only lane. In that lane was a woman on her bicycle. As the light changed to green, she proceeded to cross the intersection. A Mercedes in the car lane to her left decided to make a right turn and the driver did exactly that. While I watched in some horror, the Mercedes made the turn and struck the bicycle rider, knocking her to the ground; and then the Mercedes continued on as if nothing had happened.

I stopped my van beside the sprawled biker and, as she was rising, I decided instead of stopping to follow the Mercedes and get her tag number and get her to pull over if I could get her attention. I yelled through my open window at the biker: “Wait here, I’ll be right back!”

I was able to get behind the Mercedes and flashed my lights and blew my horn until she stopped. I pulled up beside her and informed her that she’d just hit a bicycle rider. The woman driving said, “Well I certainly didn’t feel anything.” I yelled at her that I was sure she didn’t feel anything but that she needed to return to the scene of the accident. She just rolled up her window and accelerated away

I went back to the corner, and saw that the woman on the bike had turned back down the street to ride it back. She was obviously not too injured to ride (she was wearing full protective gear, no dummy she). I waited until she stopped at another red light and pulled up beside her bike lane and got her attention and told her that I’d gotten the tag number of the woman who had struck her. Pulling over I wrote down the tag number for her and gave it to her and told her that she really needed to report the incident as she might discover later that she’d been injured. She told me that she’d think about it.

In the meantime, I called in to report it to the Police, but was informed that since I wasn’t the person who had been hit, it was basically none of my business and that if the biker wanted to file a hit and run report then they’d look into it. I asked the Police if they wanted the tag number of the hit and run driver and again they told me that since I wasn’t the person who’d been struck, it was basically none of my business and none of theirs.

Alas.

Good Deed

One of our favorite good deeds of 2007 was adopting a stray cat who showed up at our door.

One summer day, we opened our front door to find a rather thin and bedraggled black cat sitting underneath the small overhang on what amounts to our "porch" on our townhouse. This cat had long black hair—which was falling out—was very thin and appeared to be starving. It was not the pretty cat.

However, this cat was extremely friendly and affectionate and we immediately felt very sorry for it in that state. So.We fed the cat and watered it and soon realized that it was accustomed to being handled. It must, we figured, be a lost cat. We brought it in, bathed it, and very quickly decided to adopt it. With the long hair, we couldn't figure out if it was a male or female, but as near as we could ascertain it was a girl. We named her Mollie.

In short order my wife, Carole, took Mollie to the local veterinarian for shots and a checkup. She learned that "Mollie" was a neutered male. We'd have to change the name, we figured. But as he had been fixed, we now knew that at some time some family had cared for this cat, thus his familiarity with people, and his affectionate nature.Bringing him home from the vet, my son immediately latched onto a new name, relying on one of his favorite musicians: Andy renamed him "Marley", after the reggae star, Bob Marley. It fit.

Marley soon settled in to a comfortable routine with us. He would come in when he felt like it, and enjoyed spending the warm days out of doors. Our other cat, Sophie, who is very skittish and territorial, did not care for this recent addition to the household and, after some months, still has not accepted Marley. She hisses and spits and sometimes attacks Marley as she deems necessary. They have settled, apparently, on a compromise. Upstairs is Sophie's; downstairs is Marley's.

In the months since Marley's arrival, he has gained a lot of weight, his coat has completely filled in, and his hair is shiny and lustrous. He is, in fact, quite the healthy cat these days. He remains very affectionate, and we're glad of the happy circumstance that led him to our door. As is he, I'll bet.

In an addendum to this story, an acquaintance of my son's was visiting one day and saw Marley.

"What are you doing with Phil's cat?"

"Whose cat?" Andy asked.

"That's Phil's cat. They got tired of it and drove it to the church parking lot and dumped it out."

So much for human compassion, eh?

The happy and healthy Marley.

The imperious and intractable Sophie.

Cat Karma?

Almost every writer I know has at least one cat. We had three. Cinnamon, our oldest, died after 20 years. Callie, our youngest, vanished one day. We don't know what happened to her. Sophie, our middle cat, and weirdest cat, grew very happy with being the only cat in the household. She loves it, in fact. Always quirky, she came into her own once she was Lady and High Mistress of the home.

Last week, a young stray cat showed up at our door. A very sweet cat that was obviously accustomed to lots of attention. She's quite affectionate. As she was hungry and rather disheveled, we bathed her and fed her and set her up a place in the garage. We don't want the cats mixing until we've had a chance to take her to the vet for shots and a checkup.

At any rate, Sophie is NOT HAPPY with the arrival of the new cat (we've named her Molly). Every time she sees Molly through the front door or the garage door, she puffs up and hisses. Hopefully, she'll be a lot friendlier once Molly is settled in for good.

For now, though, Sophie is not the happy cat. We've mentioned the concept of karma to her, but she's having none of that.