I left my room hungry as a lion that hadn‟t eaten in a whole week.
After getting into the elevator I pondered about life. But as soon as I reached the ground floor the elevator door opening broke my concentration.
As soon as I stepped out I took notice of the new security guard making his rounds. I wondered who amongst the other guards was replaced. This guard was athletic looking, handsome and had an aura of confidence.
“Sir, I‟m a tenant in this building. I wanna know who amongst the security guards was transferred, or fired.”
“Hello, kitty, my name is Terrence Harman this is my first day back to work at in building. I worked here several years ago but was transferred to a downtown apartment building owned by the Nielson family.
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As per your question ... I‟m sorry but Fred had a massive heart attack. Sadly, he died on the way to the hospital.
Actually, he was on duty at the time.
It‟s scary being obese. Back when I worked here he and I were buddies. I warned him many times over to lose weight and go on an exercise regimen; even a light one like casual walking. He obviously didn‟t listen to me.
You‟re Chip, right?”
“Yes, I‟m Chip ... Chip Miller.”
“Chip, please follow me. Fred left a letter in the top drawer behind the counter. It was to be opened and read if he were to die. He left you something. I hope you‟re not insulted by it, because it‟s so basic.”
I shifted my head from left to right and back again, signifying that I wouldn‟t be insulted by it.
I followed Terrence to the counter and as soon as he was behind it he opened the drawer and pulled out two candy bars; a Mars bar and the other a Snickers bar. Then, Hank handed me a twenty dollar bill. He told me that Fred had requested that I also take the money and that it had to be spent on food and absolutely nothing else.
I took the twenty dollar bill from Hank, put it into my pouch and then thanked him. After a brief pause, I indicated with my right paw that I wanted Terrence to have both candy bars. He didn‟t object, in fact he grinned. Now, we were both content.
I walked to the dining hall, paused and took a deep breath upon reaching the entrance.
Although I was very saddened by Fred‟s death I had to celebrate my victory over Mr. Maranzano.
I entered the dining hall, scanned the area and then chose to sit at a dining table beside a water fall.
Everything went just fine regarding my meal. And I made certain to pretend that I at both candy bars as part of my dessert. With each „pretend bite‟ I remembered Fred ever more. I had to hold myself back in order not to lose it. I‟d figured it would‟ve been much easier to forget him. I was dead wrong.
After finishing my meal I glanced up at the clock overhead and noticed that it read 7:00 P.M. I decided to leave the apartment building and head to the downtown core. However, just before I reached the exit of the dining hall I noticed several bottles of red wine and three large glasses containing the same on the counter beside the cashier‟s station. For some unknown reason the station was empty. Maybe, the cashier had to use the restroom, I said to myself.
I scanned dining hall area intently and cautiously, noticing only a dozen or so patrons. Luckily, they were all on 238
the other side of the dining hall and not one of them had taken notice of me.
I leaped onto the counter, grabbed hold of one glass and then guzzled the contents. I did the same for the other two glasses.
I left the dining hall tipsy, but by no means drunk. I could still walk in a straight line but my coordination and reflexes weren‟t one hundred percent functional.
I left the Nielson Apartments and then walked several blocks eastward then changing direction southward toward Sherbrooke Street.
Although it was dark out, the moon shone on the area quite brightly. It gave the area a splendidly beautiful shine.
It‟s nice being a rich cat. Poor cats must roam the streets literally fighting for their rights and evading super predators like bigger dogs and worse yet, humans. Humans have become the apex predator, able to kill off any animal/s quite easily. No animal is bullet proof. Humans have weapons that are incredibly more powerful and devastating than simple bullets.
I began to descend a steep hill, continuing until I reached Sherbrooke Street. Then, I crossed Sherbrooke Street and went east for several blocks.
Sherbrooke Street is beautiful but considering I was it would‟ve been difficult to purchase booze. Therefore, I walked southward until I reached St. Catherine Street then turned eastward.
When I reached the intersection of Atwater and St.
Catherine Street I momentarily scanned the area, noticing a liquor store nearby.
I walked to Jackson‟s Liquor Place, entered it and then browsed around for fifteen minutes before asking for help.
I chose a young woman of perhaps twenty five or so. She was slim and athletic looking, red-haired and freckled faced and had olive coloured eyes.
“Excuse me madam, I‟m having a hard time figuring out what to buy. Can you help me decide?”
“Of course, honey! That‟s my job, and gosh do I love cats.
Please follow me, and if you see anything you like on the way speak up. I‟ll be glad to describe the contents of any bottle in this store.”
We walked through several isles then turned right to a far off corner.
Therein was a large shelf full of flavoured bottles of liquor. Instantly, I spotted one; cherry-grape flavoured booze.
That‟s what I wanted!
“Miss, I want that bottle over there; you see ... the cherry-grape flavoured one. The brand name is Haley‟s Drinks.” 239
“Oh,
gosh,
kitty,
Haley‟s
is
my
favourite
booze
manufacturer. That‟s why I brought you here. But I should tell you something about the contents of that bottle, okay?” I nodded my head in approval however the young woman sensed that I was in a great hurry. She didn‟t take too long in her description.
Kitty, the flavour is self-explanatory. This is a 750 ml bottle and it is 80 proof. It‟s not the strongest booze, but nevertheless it‟s a lot more potent than any wine, champagne or beer bottle.
Kitty, would you like it wrapped or is a bag enough for you?”
“Miss please put my bottle in a plastic bag, and tie the handles in a knot. I‟ll carry the bag around using my teeth.” Shortly afterwards, the sale was made and I had my bottle where I wanted it. Just before I left Jackson‟s Liquor Place I glanced up at the clock overhead. It indicated 8:45 P.M.
As soon as I ventured onto the sidewalk I noticed that traffic was beginning to lighten. It was Monday therefore the number of party animals was at a low and as far as I knew there wasn‟t an athletic event occurring in the city.
As soon as I crossed the street I walked a short distance until I reached a place people on the street call Wino Park situated across the street from the Pepsi Forum. This place stinks of booze and urine at night. Some of the drunkards are loud and somewhat rowdy. But one thing‟s for certain regarding a few of the drunkards therein they love booze more than life itself. Some of them have fried brains. They‟d been drinking up a storm for too many years. They can‟t stop either; if they do they‟ll suffer delirium tremens. Yet others don‟t want to stop.
If they do, they‟ll be forced to live in the real world. And for some reason they fear this fact intensely.
I scanned the area, spotting an empty bench straight ahead and to my left. Naturally, I approached it and then leaped onto it.
I rescanned the area just to make sure that it was safe for me to sit on that particular bench.
As soon as I was firmly entrenched in my position I ripped open the plastic bag housing my bottle, tossed the plastic bag into the garbage and then peeled off the safety tape engulfing the lower part of the cap.
As soon as I‟d done that I unscrewed the cap, took a firm hold of the bottle with both paws and then took several swigs.
Boy, did I need that. I paused for a moment and then repeated my action, doing this routine five or six times before stopping for a respite.
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Looking intently at my bottle I noticed that half of the content was already in my stomach. I began to feel a strong buzz then I slipped into mild intoxication. Mind you, I still knew where I was and I could still walk.
I glanced up at the moon, saluted it and then spoke a few kind words to it.
“Buddy, you light up this city at night. And wait ... you light up my life too. I love you so ever dearly.” I took a couple more swigs before being rudely interrupted by a wino. This guy stunk of booze, urine and sweat, was dishevelled all over and assumed I‟d become his friend instantly.
“Hey buddy, c‟mon, why don‟t you share that bottle with me and my friends over there?”
“Where is over there, on the moon, on Mars or on the roof of some building?”
This caused the wino to point to a group of roughly six or seven drunkards. They were a bit rowdy and vocal.
“Hey, bucko, scram before I beat you senseless, this is my VC (Victory in Canada Day) and absolutely not yours. I saved this city from a mean monster. I can‟t tell you his name because it‟s a big secret.”
The wino appeared to ignore everything that I said; focusing on my bottle instead. He kept glancing at it like he was contemplating making a quick snatch and then running away.
“Hey guys, this kitty‟s got some booze for the drinking!
C‟mon down!”
That was the last straw. I set my bottle of booze firmly beside me and then squatted, aimed and then leaped onto the wino‟s chest. Although under normal circumstances my aim would‟ve been off as a result of my intoxication, the wino was right in front of me and a couple of feet away at that.
The wino went down really hard, falling flat on his back and making a thumping sound as soon as his body catapulted against the ground.
Unfortunately for me, some of the other drunkards in the area took notice of what‟d happened. They became rowdy and verbally insolent towards me. But before they could run towards me I grabbed hold of my bottle of booze and then guzzled down the contents in a jiffy.
I threw my bottle of booze like a Frisbee as far away from my position as possible. Then, I leaped onto the ground and then galloped away heading due east on St. Catherine Street. Although I only galloped for two blocks I managed to stumble four times.
I swerved off into an alley and then curled up into a tight ball and sat still for roughly fifteen minutes until I heard a convergence of sirens heading towards Wino Park.
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This was a wakeup call I simply couldn‟t ignore. I laboriously uncurled myself and then grudgingly walked to the corner of the alleyway. I cropped up my ears and zoomed into the on-goings in the park.
An ambulance and later two patrol cars converged upon the area. Two paramedics exited the ambulance and headed straight to the wino I‟d knocked down.
I got a shocking feeling in my gut. What if I‟d inadvertently killed the wino? I thought.
A short while later the wino, visibly alive but barely able to move was placed in a gurney and taken to the ambulance.
Three police officers questioned witnesses. Each witness gave a conflicting story. In one, I was a ruthless bobcat, in another a lynx, in a third an overly aggressive squirrel, and finally I was described as a ferocious rat.
Although there were other descriptions of me I won‟t go into detail concerning this matter. It made no difference how many witnesses there were, every single one of them was visibly intoxicated. Thankfully, I ... being a cat was able to hold my own.
Although I felt a bit dizzy I decided to continue partying.
After all, I was the kitty who knocked off Mr. Maranzano. In my own eyes, I was a superhero. A day of party animal behaviour was well-deserved.
I continued walking eastward for roughly six more blocks. I was now in a busy part of the downtown core. There were numerous establishments that I could get booze from.
I stopped dead cold, scanned the area and then spotted a restaurant. I didn‟t feel like eating anything or going through the normal method of being seated and then ordering. I wanted my booze immediately.
Johnny‟s Steakhouse was the best in the city. For the moment I was interested in drinking some beer. I needed more froth in my gut.
I crossed St. Catherine Street, almost getting hit by two cars in the process and then circled around to the back of the steakhouse.
I followed the trail of beer until I reached the mouth of the kitchen.
Therein, were two large kegs of beer, no doubt placed there as extras. Johnny‟s Steakhouse had a full bar and kegs in the front though.
I zoomed in on a keg, crept towards it and as soon as I was within a foot of my target I heard a shout.
“Hey, kitty, get away from that keg! I‟m calling the police!”
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I turned and bolted, hitting the nearest wall falling flat on my side. Thankfully, I shot back up and then ran out the back door.
This wasn‟t gonna work, I said to myself. I had to find another way.
I resumed walking eastward on St. Catherine Street until I came across what they call a Resto Bar (restaurant-bar). I entered it and then waited patiently.
A few seconds later, a beautiful hostess approached me. She seemed to be worried about me, but I wasn‟t sure. I had to wait and see.
“Honey, are you all right?”
“Yes, I sure am. Now get me a couple of large drafts. I don‟t care what brand name they are, just place them on the table over there, please. I‟m in a big hurry, okay.” The hostess knelt down and then caressed the hair between my ears.
“Honey, technically, I‟m off for the night. Please go to the alley in the back. I‟ll be there in a few minutes. Honey, please trust me. I love cats ever so dearly.” I nodded in approval and then did as the hostess asked.
I waited for ten minutes before deciding to leave. But thankfully, the hostess arrived with a super-sized draft. I think the glass must‟ve held 24 oz. of beer, and it was full to the rim.
“Honey, take this and drink up. But I can‟t give you any more. The manager is very picky about who he serves. If you‟re wasted and get into an accident we may be partially liable.
Understand?”
“Okay, I understand. Please place the draft beside me and wait until I‟m done.”
I decided that it was my last drink for the night. My vision was becoming blurry.
“Miss why have you given me a free beer; something seems odd about this scenario.”
“Honey, kitty, I know you‟re wasted. I don‟t want you to get hurt. I figured that if I give you a free draft you‟ll take the time to listen to me.
I once had a cat that ran away from home. My parents assumed that he was snatched by a buncher, or was killed by a bigger animal. Well, that‟s not what‟d happened.
Toby hung out with the wrong crowd. A bunch of creepy humans who loved to party, well he became like them. Several months later he crossed St. Catherine Street while under the influence. Witnesses say that Toby was staggering and when he got half way across the street he stopped and then looked at the stars. That‟s when he was struck by an oncoming vehicle.
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Kitty, please don‟t take up a bad human habit like drinking booze. I know it kind of sounds hypocritical of me but don‟t mind that. Please, finish off your draft and then go home. I don‟t wanna see you in this drunken state again, okay?”
“Damn you, you little witch! I‟m not drunk! And you better not call me that again ... hiccup ... hiccup ... hiccup ...
because I‟ve got a whole plethora of worse names to call you by.
I can ... hiccup ... burp ... call you the „S‟ word or the „W‟
word or by the „C‟ word. So honey, keep quiet if you know what‟s good for you.”
I was so pissed off at the hostess for telling me that I was in a „drunken state‟ I had to go off on her. What else could I have done?
“Kitty, I feel sorry for you. Please, don‟t ignore what I‟ve told you. Okay, at least let me give you a ride home, please. It‟s a cold world out there. You may be taken advantage of, or even run over by a car.”
“Miss, you don‟t really love me. I know what you‟re really like. You‟re like my „pretend daddy‟. He left me in mid-air, lied to me about dying. He had ketchup in and around his mouth and on his lips too. I bailed out of the plane thinking that my pretend daddy really loved me. He just wanted to get rid of me.
Miss, I know you‟re like him. Given the chance, you‟ll hurt me as my pretend daddy hurt me.”
The hostess continued talking to me even after I turned and walked away.
I didn‟t like being where I was. It was too dark and too quiet. People get mugged in this kind of an environment.
By now, the booze in my system had peaked. My blood was overflowing with alcohol and it showed in my actions.
I continued walking around until I reached a side street. I can‟t remember its name but nevertheless I continued walking.
I couldn‟t help it but I began to get quite vocal shouting away and hiccupping a lot. Being alone and having just had a long night of binge drinking, what could I have expected?
My end came while I was walking in the middle of the street and cursing at the residents in the area. Most were either asleep or getting ready to sleep. As expected, someone called the police. And before I knew it a patrol car had pulled over beside me.
“Hey kitty, get out of the street! Go to the sidewalk and keep quiet or else I‟ll arrest you for disturbing the peace and for being drunk and disorderly.”
“Damn you, officer! I‟m not drunk and disorderly! I‟m sober and orderly!
Maybe if you‟d get that jelly donut out of your mouth you‟ll think rationally.”
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The officer shined a light on me then turned on the revolving siren lights. When that didn‟t work he aggressively cut me off with his patrol car.
I was forced to stop walking. I stood there all glassy-eyed and nauseous, unable to go anywhere and irritated at the police officer for not leaving me alone.
The officer turned off the ignition and then hastily exited his vehicle. He walked around to the other side of the patrol car to face me head on.
“Hold it kitty! Listen to me carefully! We‟ve received a criminal complaint regarding your behaviour. Shut up right now and go home. If you do this immediately I‟ll forget what has happened, okay?”
“Officer ... hiccup ... hiccup ... burp ... hiccup ... I‟m not doing anything. Leave me alone!”
“Kitty, you‟re pressing your luck.”
“Officer, look ... I want you to go home, okay. You have no business harassing me. I have rights you know that?”
“Kitty, you have the right to behave yourself. In this city we have laws pertaining to public conduct that apply to everyone, including drunkard cats.”
I turned to my left and then began to walk away. The officer shifted his position to the right essentially blocking my path. He stood there with his arms at his side, chest inflated and glaring at me.
“Officer, move it!”
After I spoke I swung wildly at him, perhaps three or four times without hitting him. My intent was to scare him, not hurt him.
“All right, kitty, damn you, I‟m placing you under arrest for attempting to assault an officer of the law. You can‟t assault a Montreal Police Officer without going to jail. Not to mention your filthy mouth.”
The officer brandished a pair of zip cuffs; a horror to all cats, indeed.
“I‟m not going anywhere! Now get out of my f-cking way!” Before I knew it I realized that my words were of no use to me. They only further enraged the officer.
The officer violently grabbed hold of my scruff and then hoisted me into the air. I let out a final attempt at resistance, swinging wildly left and right, but to no avail.
“Lemme go! Lemme go! Lemme ... burp ... hiccup ... barf!” I ended up puking on the officer‟s shoe. That was a fatal error, indeed.
The Officer finally restrained me, placed me onto the ground and then called the dispatcher.
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“Hello, dispatcher, this is Officer Trent Murphy speaking.
I‟ve got the drunk and disorderly cat in custody. He‟s a real wild one, indeed.
The kitty attempted to assault me on two occasions and insulted me too. He‟s a hazardous danger to the public. He‟s gotta spend some time behind bars.
You guys are what ... can‟t send him to jail ... all full.
Okay, you ... the animal shelter for seventy two hours. Okay ...
no fingerprinting or mug shot. Sleep it off, okay I think that‟ll do just fine.”
“Officer who, no way, Montreal doesn‟t have any Irish police officers!”
“Yes it does, kitty. I‟m fourth generation Montreal Police.
My great grandfather was the first in line. We‟re following the tradition from back home.
Speaking of tradition, back in the olden days in Ireland a kitty wouldn‟t have dared speak that way to an officer of the law. The automatic response would‟ve been a clubbing or two with a night stick. Nowadays, youngsters including cats don‟t respect the law.
Anyway, kitty, you‟ll have three days and nights to think about that. You‟ll be sober by the time you leave the animal shelter.”
Those were the last words I heard from Officer Murphy. I must‟ve passed out instantly.
When I came too I was lying on my side beside a pile of poop, barf and a puddle of urine. It smelled so awful because there was a stench emanating from the other animal shelter cages. Animal shelter! What a shocker!
I couldn‟t believe it. An animal shelter is the second to last place a kitty wants to find him or herself in. The worst is a biomedical lab.
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