DOUBLE CROSS
I spent the following month living on the edge; the edge of sanity that is. I was very careful to always take my walks during the night-time and resting and sleeping during the day.
Whenever a police vehicle passed by, I got the jittery- jumps. It was a very stressful and confusing situation to have to endure.
Another month passed before I could no longer take it anymore. I needed to talk to someone that I truly loved with all my heart; it would have to be reciprocal.
On a star-riddled Friday evening I decided on what to do. I needed to call my parents. There was a possibility that they still loved me. And technically, I had no idea why they left me as they did.
I took the train to Angrignon Metro station. As soon as I exited the station I walked to Angrignon Park, but then I backtracked. I remembered that I decided to go to this particular metro station because I didn’t want anyone to recognize me. Angrignon Park is a beautiful place, but all it would take is one person therein to recognize me. Anyway, I had to make a possible life changing phone call. Although there was a payphone in the metro station I didn’t want anyone to snoop in on my personal conversation. Besides, there were too many passersby near the phones therein.
I sat down on a nearby bench, worried as crazy not being able to decide what to do. Following 30 minutes of intense thinking and the emergence of a horrendous headache I decided to go ahead and stroll through Angrignon Park. I needed to see nature’s beauty, and to relax. Following 2 months of extreme anxiety, I needed the rest and relaxation.
Cats love nature more than humans do. It’s outright cruel to keep a cat indoors for extended periods of time without taking him or her outdoors. Outdoor walks and fun should be a daily activity for so-called ‘house cats’.
I’d like to ask a human that has an indoor cat one question, ‘how would you like to be all cooped up and jailed in your domicile like the cat that you purport to love so much’? I guess this kind of a question takes the one who’s questioned by surprise.
I walked deep into the park before deciding to rest in. As I was studying my surroundings very carefully I heard someone call out to me.
“Hey, kitty, why don’t you come and join me?”
Tracking the origin of the voice I saw a tough looking man, dressed in black, wearing shades, and brandishing what appeared to be a half pound burger, all dressed of course. To tell you the truth I had an eerie feeling that something was awfully wrong. There were people nearby but no one appeared to have taken any notice of me or the strange man.
The man began to wave the burger left to right, and then spoke softly to me.
“Kitty, c’mon I know you want to eat this beautiful half- pounder. It was made just for you.”
Now that was very spooky. Why would a stranger say that to me? Unfortunately, instinct took over. I fell into a sort of hypnotic state, unable to stop walking towards the burger. Then, out of the blue I heard a thumping sound. Instantly, everything went blank.
I don’t know how long I was out for but when I awakened it became apparent to that I was shot with what animals refer to as ‘the dreaded tranquilizer gun’, invented by a non-animal (of course), the notorious, and hated by many animals, Colin Murdoch.
“Tommy Baker, guess what. You’re going to be taking a brown bath very soon.”
“Hey, where am I, What is this place, I demand to know. I know my rights under the Canadian Charter of Rights.” “The Canadian Charter of Rights doesn’t apply to you. You’re with us now. Mickey and I are enforcers. Guess who we work for?”
Wow, towering giants with humungous muscles and fighters’ faces were hovering over me; strangely enough they were wearing surgical masks. The men were wearing black clothing, dark sunglasses, and dark hats. I didn’t have to actually see the veins on their biceps to know they were very big and strong.
It dawned on me. There was a horrid stench in the area. So terrible it was almost choking me. I was having difficulty breathing. We were in some kind of an indoor facility. Upon turning my head to the right I saw a humungous pool containing a mixture of fecal matter, urine, and other noxious substances. As soon as I turned my head back to face the 2 enforcers I understood why I was in the sewer facility.
Only one of the two enforcers spoke. The other enforcer held what appeared to be a .357 Magnum in his left hand.
“Fecal matter and urine will be on your face, and entire body kitty! Don’t you remember what Bongo said on T. V.? When Bongo makes a threat he always carries it out, and by whatever means too. (The enforcer brandished a sophisticated stop watch; I had no idea why, but under the circumstances I wasn’t going to ask).
“You’re going to dive into that cesspool of poop and pee.” Gosh, I was so overwhelmingly terrified. I ran through this scenario in my head. Okay, I’ll take a deep breath, dive in, and then quickly come up for air. I’m certain my game plan will work.
As I was just about to turn and dive into the cesspool I was ordered to stop and listen. Apparently, there was more bad news to come.
“Don’t you dare dive in until I tell you the reason I have this sophisticated stop watch in my hand. Following your dive into the cesspool, you must stay submerged for a total of 2 minutes, not a second less. If you emerge at any time before the 2 minute minimum I shall blow your head off with my .357 Magnum.”
“C’mon guys, look, I’m just a poor little kitty. I’ve never harmed anyone in my whole life. C’mon, have a heart. Please, umm, what if I give you guys all the money in my shoulder bag?
I’ve got tons of money, and umm, it’s all clean, no counterfeit bills, really. You can tell Bongo that I died, I’ll leave the province and never come back, or if you want, I’ll move down to the states, okay?”
“No excuses. You need to dive into the cesspool immediately!”
“Wait a minute, if you shoot me the security guards in this facility will certainly hear the banging of the gunshot.” “There are 3 security guards on duty; all of them have been given ‘very special bonuses’ for the day. No one will come to your rescue, we promise.”
“C’mon fellows, please wait, okay? What about the surveillance cameras. These facilities always have surveillance of the interior and exterior of the property.”
“The surveillance cameras have been neutralized. Now, are you going to dive in or shall I blow your head off?”
“Okay, I just need to know one thing. How will I know that the 2 minutes are up, I mean, it’s not like I’ll have my own stop watch down there. And even if I did, I certainly can’t see anything therein. Can I use your stopwatch?”
“Bongo’s orders, this is your problem not his or ours. I’m going to count to 5, so help me if you don’t dive in when I finish counting consider yourself a corpse.”
I had no choice in the matter but to ready myself for the creepiest dive of my entire life, and hopefully the only one of its kind. I held my breath, closed my eyes crunched my ears.
Closed my nostrils then dove in.
Upon entering into the cesspool I heard the ugliest thud- like splash sound. The force of my dive caused material to enter my mouth, nose, ears, eyes, and anus. I tried my hardest to keep my sanity. As time elapsed I became more and more desperate for air; and believe me every second felt like an hour. Twice I had to open my mouth, material entered my mouth and unfortunately my swallow-reflex was activated.
Soon I began to feel dizzy, gradually losing consciousness until I only had enough strength to emerge from the filth I was dunked into.
As soon as I emerged I took in several deep breaths desperately gasping for air, each time I did so more filth entered my mouth and nose. Luckily, both enforcers had just turned and readied themselves to walk away. Upon hearing me breathe, the speaker turned to face me.
“Kitty, you barely made it in time. Two minutes and one second on the nose. If you’d emerged a couple of seconds earlier I would’ve shot and killed you. No one would’ve known the difference. And one more thing, if you dare to ever tell anyone what ensued we’ll come after you again. Next time you’ll have to stay down for 3 minutes, go it?”
The enforcers walked away, not waiting for my response. Meanwhile, I mustered every ounce of strength that I had, pulled myself out of the cesspool and then puked my brains out. I must’ve done so for nearly a half an hour. Although I shook my body to rid myself of the filth on me, much of it stuck and then dried up, granting me an ugly, stinky appearance.
As soon as I stopped puking I began my long trek out of the facility. Every step that I took was difficult to perform because my mind and entire body had been overwhelmed by the shocking even that I was forced to endure. Nevertheless, I couldn’t give up.
I found myself in such a horrid state the only persons that I could think of was my parents. This horrible trauma brought out the extreme hidden love for my beloved parents that I couldn’t brush off. Now, I was quite certain that they’d take me back after I told them my story.
Upon leaving the facility grounds I turned back to see the name of the hell-hole. A sign just above the entrance read MONTREAL SEWER TREATMENT PLANT #4. I made certain to never forget that name.
I was in an area that contained factory and warehouse buildings scattered throughout a large area. And, considering it was dark I was lucky. I walked on a long road leading to the downtown core. I was miles away because the buildings that I could see on the horizon appeared to be no larger than ants.
Only 2 vehicles passed me in the first half hour of my walk. A short while later, when I’d lost all hope a motorist pulled his dark green Volkswagen beside me.
As soon as he lowered the window of his vehicle I knew for certain that I stunk beyond belief. “What the hell, kitty, you stink like poop and pee! Take a freaking shower, will you, before some crazy motorist decides to run you over, and if he does he’ll be doing the world an awesome favor!”
He drove off never to be seen again. I continued walking until I reached a congregation of homes. I stayed low, not wanting to be seen by anyone. I began my search for a swimming pool. Unfortunately, so long as I had the pasted fecal matter and urine stains on me my olfactory sense was neutralized. In a nutshell I couldn’t sniff the area for chlorine. Therefore, I cropped up my ears and looked intently at my surroundings.
The more that I walked the more upscale the homes became. This is exactly what I needed. Upon entering Raymond Boulevard I heard the faint sound of swimming pool water gently moving side to side. I tracked the sound until I reached a mansion located at 8860 Raymond Boulevard. It was my ticket out of this stinking predicament.
I slithered into the mansion grounds, leaving a trail of stench and discolouration behind me. I passed a beautiful grassy lawn, reaching the back of the mansion. On my left was a beautiful patio straight ahead was a pristine swimming pool. With no time to waste I ran to the pool, dove in and then emerged. Then I submerged then emerged repeating this behavior many times over, making sure that I stayed away from the brown- yellow colored filth on the surface of the water. By the time I exited the swimming pool most of the surface area was covered with filth. Although I felt sorry for the owners of the pool, I had my own skin and hide to think about. Nobody knew how I felt, but me.
I galloped through the front lawn of the mansion until reaching the sidewalk. Studying the area intently, I saw no pedestrians, motorists, or peeping Toms, thereby, I continued my trek.
Judging from the appearance of the stars and the moon it was midnight. As soon as I reached Atwater Street near Lionel Groulx Metro station I chose to use the same payphone that I used to turn Bongo into the authorities.
I leaped up onto the phone dropped several quarters into the slot and then proceeded to call the Vancouver operator. The coins in my shoulder bag had been well washed by the chlorine in the swimming pool. However, my bills were a different story. I had to wait until they dried before using them. No problem, I wasn’t going to need a lot of in the near future.
“Hello, this is Shirley the Vancouver operator, how may I help you?”
“Madam Shirley, can you please give me the phone number of Carter and Andrea Sumner-Williams.?” “One moment please.”
“Honey, do you have a paper and pen, or a mobile that you can use to jot down the phone number?”
“Don’t worry about it I have a good memory for phone numbers.”
“Umm, honey, are you a little boy?”
I didn’t want her to know anything about me, so I answered in the affirmative.
“Yes, Madam Shirley, I’m a 6 year-old boy. I need the Williams phone number because their son Greg and I were best friends in the whole world. The Williams’ recently moved from Montreal to Vancouver. Unfortunately, our family was on vacation when they moved hence, I couldn’t get Greg’s phone number.”
“Oh my dear, I guess I should treat this as an emergency. Well, I have a phone number for Andrea Sumner-Williams, but there’s no record of a Carter Williams. Perhaps, Greg’s parents used Andrea Williams’ name for phone billing purposes?
Anyway, their number is (555) 690-5509. Do you need anything else?”
“No, Madam Shirley, and thank you very much and have a very beautiful day, goodbye.”
“And the same to you doubled.”
I felt that something was terribly wrong. My father was a hard-line lion-of-the-house kind of a guy. He’d never allow my mother to use her name for any utility bills. It was a case of divorce, separation, or worse yet death. Any of the 3 options were terrifying to me. I’d already been through enough suffering. How could I cope with an addition to a series of catastrophes?
Following our polite goodbye and have a nice day line, I froze stiff for a minute. I felt my heart pacing and my blood pressure rise. Still yet, I was very excited about calling my mother, even though I felt that there could’ve been something wrong. When the time came, I called my mother, memorizing the entire number by heart. After 4 rings that seemed like they were a year apart my mother answered the phone.
“Hello, who is this and how can I help you?”
“Mom, is that you?” “Huh, is this Citizen?”
“Yes mom, it is. Mom ... please (the line suddenly went dead).
I called my mother again, unfortunately, the same thing happened. Following a dozen repeated calls, my mother finally spoke to me. I was certain she hung up the phone in my face because she was overwhelmed by love and joy, I just couldn’t imagine the other case scenario it would’ve been shocking to me at the very least.
“Mom, it’s me, Citizen, your beloved son. Please don’t hang up on me again, I’m running out of coins. Mom, I’m in Montreal, close to the Lionel Groulx Metro station. I miss you and dad so very much. I’m excited about the prospect of seeing you very soon. Can you give me your home address? I’ll fly to Vancouver; we’ll meet at the airport if you want.”
“Citizen, I’m sorry to say this, and I guess there’s really only one way to tell you, bluntly; your father recently passed away from bone cancer. Chemotherapy and the best medicine available couldn’t save him.”
“Mom, no way please tell me that dad’s still alive and you’re only teasing.”
“Citizen, I wish I was only teasing.”
(I heard a man’s voice in the background). “Honey darling come to bed. I want you so very much. When are you going to finish talking to that annoying squirt?”
(I know for certain that my mother muffled her receiver using the palm of her hand, she’d forgotten about my incredible feline senses). “Honey, I’ll be there in a jiffy. Wait until I finish talking to this snot of an excuse for a son.”
“Mom, just hear me out please, okay? I need to tell you what has happened to me since you left me all alone in the airport. Please, be patient, if you don’t want to see me ever again, say so after I’m done conversing with you. Are we in agreement?”
My mother reluctantly agreed to stay on the phone and listen to my detailed description of my on-goings during our separation.
“Citizen, honey, I love you so much. We don’t have anyone else but each other. You know what why don’t I visit you in Montreal. Ì never told you that I was born in the Royal Victoria Hospital in Montreal.”
“Mom, you really were?”
“Yes, honey, I was. Actually, I spent the first 10 years of my life living in downtown Montreal with my beloved parents. My familiarity with the city will make it much easier when I come to visit you. Perhaps I may move back to the beautiful city I was born in.”
“Mom, that’s a very good idea. When can you come and where should I meet you?”
“Citizen, I can be there in a couple of days at the very latest. I’m looking forward to seeing you, really.”
“Mom, that’s terrific!”
“Citizen, please call me tomorrow at noon. By then I’ll have more details regarding my departure and arrival times. Understand that we must meet in the downtown core, in front of Tim Horton’s beside the statue of Norman Bethune, close to Guy Metro station. Is that okay with you?”
“Mom, it’s fantabulous. Mom, I love you very much and I missed you ever so dearly. As for dad, I’m really bummed out about not being able to see him, even once, that would be incredibly satisfying.”
We reviewed our meet-up instructions one more time just in case we didn’t get everything right the first time.
As soon as I hung up the phone, I fell into a state of anxiety that lasted until 6:00 A.M. the following morning. In a sense, I was too overly-excited about the prospect of meeting my mother. Furthermore, I began to wonder whether my mother and I were going to embrace. For a change, I wanted to get really touchy and feely, leaping unto my mother’s chest, kissing her cheeks many times over, and saying sweet things like I love you over and over again. Somehow, I felt that it wouldn’t be quite as reciprocal as expected.
Worse yet, a small part of me felt that my mother didn’t want to have anything to do with me. By 11:00 A.M. I fell into a stupor, feeling like a guy who was suffering from bipolar disorder. I’d gone from a terrific high to a horrible low in a short period of time. Perhaps, I was in denial; denial about what? I wondered.
At 11:15 A.M. I was sitting in the Pepsi Forum, waiting for the time to pass before I began my nervous walk to the meeting place. A short balding and pudgy middle-aged man approached me wearing a big smile on his face. I wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone, besides, I was pressed for time.
“Hello kitty, do you like the Pepsi Forum?”
“Beat it! Scram! I’m not in the mood to speak to anyone, okay!”
I didn’t mean to be so nasty to the man but there was no way in hell I was going to converse about anything, with anyone.
Indeed, I was getting ready to leave and my nerves were quite racked.
No sooner had I spoke the man brandished a small black device. He punched a few buttons and then waited attentively.
Moments later I saw 4 security guards wearing typical white shirts and dark pants fast approaching our position. I shifted my gaze to the man. He was grinning fiercely at me.
“Hey kitty, guess who I am?”
“Umm, I don’t know.”
“I’m head of security at the Pepsi Forum. We’ve had too many complaints regarding snotty, aggressive patrons at the Pepsi Forum. If you know any better, you’ll run out of the forum and never return.”
I chose the nearest exit to run to and then exit the Pepsi Forum. Following a 50 yard sprint I slowed down to a walking pace. I stayed on Maisonneuve Boulevard and continued heading due east to our meeting place. On my way there I saw what could’ve been a horrendous accident. There’s a bike path on Maisonneuve Boulevard, unfortunately between Atwater Street and Guy Street there are left turns for motorists heading west. Many motorists don’t watch out for cyclists, they’re attuned to other vehicles. Even pedestrians are easier to spot than cyclists. Worse yet, some cyclists think they’re in the Indy 500, and still others go through red lights and stop signs thinking that they own the entire street and that everyone must get out of their way, everyone including pedestrians and motorists too. But believe me, the worst amongst this clique are the ones who ram their way through traffic lights even though they see a motorist turning in front of them. In this case scenario, the cyclist has the right of way, but a person on a bike must think if there’s a collision between me and a motorist who will get hurt? Duh, that’s a no-brainer.
Before I arrived at our meeting place I noticed something peculiar. There were considerably more police vehicles on Maisonneuve Boulevard, I also noticed 7 police vehicles parked on the crossing streets.
As soon As I got St. Marc Street I couldn’t help but notice that the area around Guy Metro station was literally dead in activity. So much so, not a motorist could be seen. Guy Street runs two ways and is a major passageway that leads to another major street, Cote des Neiges.
After crossing Guy Street I shifted my direction slightly to the left then entered the Norman Bethune Square. A moment later, I was seated on a bench beside the statue of Norman Bethune.
Although I was situated in front of Tim Horton’s there wasn’t a soul in sight, even after I turned to face the restaurant I could see no one inside. Tim Horton’s opens 24 hours a day it caters to a bazillion students, residents, passersby, workers in and around the area, and whomever. I didn’t understand what was going on.
I studied my surroundings very intently, noticing a lone pigeon perched atop Concordia University’s Library Building. He was so high up that I could barely see his unusual wing flapping. Come to think of it he was making some kind of a distress call or signal, or maybe he was trying to warn someone. Wait a minute, was this lone male pigeon trying to warn me about some imminent danger, I wondered?”
Suddenly, I felt an eerie feeling inside of me. I studied my surroundings very carefully once more. Seeing nothing dangerous, but sensing danger confused me.
As I was pondering about what to do next the Tim Horton’s door behind me swung open and then at least a dozen officers of the law charged me, like raving bulls. Moments thereafter, additional law enforcement personnel exited buildings in the vicinity. Every single person amongst them had his or her gun drawn and pointed at me. As soon as they surrounded me one of the officers radioed in for backup. That’s when I heard sirens blasting in every possible direction. I instinctively curled up into a ball, keeping my eyes slightly open.
“Hey un-curl yourself, do it right now or else we’ll shoot!
After you do that, stand on your hind legs and keep your paws open, retract your claws and don’t you dare bare your canines!”
I did as ordered and then waited attentively for whatever to happen to happen. I couldn’t run, hide, or put up any kind of a fight. I actually thought that nothing worse could possibly happen to me. Boy was I wrong!
“Honey, please follow their orders to the letter. Honey, mommy loves you so very much.”
Huh, what the hell is going on here? Oh gosh, umm, it’s my mother; she was gently ushered to the front of the hovering crowd.
“Mom, you double crossed me! Mom, you don’t love me! Mom, you never loved me! You want the reward money, don’t deny it!”
“Honey I really do love you that’s why I turned you in. Listen, baby, there’s a 2 million dollar reward for information leading to your arrest and conviction. I want, I mean, I need the money really badly. Honey, I want to live like a beautiful princess, and you’re such a sweet son by helping me acquire the reward money. Think of it this way, you’re making your mother very happy. Citizen I’m proud of you.”
I couldn’t bear to hear any more of my mother’s garbage talk. I raised my forepaws and readied to cup my ears.
“Citizen, don’t move! I don’t want you to cup your ears. I have more to say. Citizen, you need to be behind bars for the rest of your natural kitty life, you need some serious long-term therapy too. I don’t want you to harm anyone, especially yourself.”
I totally lost it, not caring about anyone in the whole world except myself. I knew right then that Andrea Sumner Williams was no longer my mother, in fact, she was my worst enemy in the whole world.
“Andrea, ‘F you’, and there’s one more thing, you’ll never be a beautiful princess because you’re always going to be an ugly witch!”
“Citizen, may cat bite your tongue, no I take that back may a lion bite your tongue off! Officers, you heard what he said, you know for sure now, Citizen is a violent offender. I want you to put him away for life with hard labor and without any chance of parole. And umm, by the way, is the reward money tax-free?”
Following my verbal rampage I was unceremoniously held by 2 large policemen. I understood that resisting arrest was futile and would make things worse; unfortunately, I was so enraged I began to scream my head off.
“Let me go damn you! Leave me alone, I didn’t do anything!
I’m not a criminal, I was framed for every single crime that the crown has charged me with! I demand my rights as a Citizen of Canada! Where is the Canadian Charter of Rights? Why doesn’t it apply to me?”
I attempted to continue screaming but was brutally gagged by a third policeman. He smothered my mouth with black masking tape and then grinned, signifying that he enjoyed what he was doing. Following this, I felt the need to flail and punch and scratch wildly. I was briefly able to free myself from the powerful clutches of the 2 large policemen.
Meanwhile, I could see my mother smirking at me. She knew that it was only a matter of time before I was fully restrained. Additional police officers worked to restrain me. I was eventually bound and gagged, like an out of control psychiatric patient, which, by the way I wasn’t.
As I was being whisked away to a dark-coloured paddy wagon I could hear my mother speaking her mind to me.
“Honey, there’s no use in resisting. I know you remember what Seven of Nine from the series Star Trek Voyager used to famously say, ‘Resistance is Futile’. I wish she was here to see this beautiful spectacle.”
I’d always known that Andrea was an airhead, but following her statement I considered her mentally deranged.
I was roughly tossed inside the paddy wagon. Before closing the doors the police officers allowed local, national, and international news crews to film and take pictures of me. I was lying on my back, bound and shackled, like a defeated animal. I understood that the game of ‘runaway cat’ was in a literal sense, permanently over.
I spent 3 days in the local jail, was fed low grade food and housed with the rabble of society. I literally had to fight for my food. I had no friends therein, and I didn’t like the way some of the inmates were looking at me, looking at me with their crazy bloodshot eyes.
At noon on my third day in jail I was removed from my cell and then taken to the courthouse. As soon as I was taken out of the paddy wagon I was bombarded by questions, cameras, and photos. I glared at