The police called me this morning.
Apparently, my cat was "arrested" for loitering at the local Little League baseball park about half-a-mile from where I live. Normally, during baseball season he'll hang out there playing with the kids and eating hot dogs, hamburgers or whatever the heck else people decide to feed him, then, he'll hop in a minivan with a soccer-mom and her brood of children, and he gets dropped off at my house when the game is finished. It's a perfectly fine arrangement.
I don't know. Maybe he just likes to be part of a team or something.
Unfortunately, the Little League season has come and gone, the diamonds are silent and empty, and poor Harding the Dog-Cat seems to be having a difficult time grasping this. But, don't worry, he's still got the little old lady across the street who feeds him wonderful things. Plus, school's starting soon, and he tends to wander over there to spend some quality time sleeping in the janitor's office and enjoying recess and gym class more than I ever did when I was his age (he's 8 years old).
On the other hand, he also spends more time at the police station than I ever did as well. In fact, he's even got his own special container of treats in the kennel there. And, since crime's kind of low in this odd little town of mine, I think the police officers get bored, and subsequently grab a shiny, new rookie officer and drive around looking for my cat to have a bit of fun watching the newbie try and catch him.
Unfortunately, for the rookie, Harding really enjoys being chased. If you take a step toward him to pick him up, he will bolt off in some direction which could, quite possibly, shred every ligament and tendon in your knees if you try to grab him.
What the rookies don't know, and what the veterans are well aware of, is that the easiest way to catch my cat is just to sit down on the ground and wait for him to come and treat you like some sort of chew toy. I think the veterans love this because it makes them look like some sort of Zen animal control officer with mystical powers for attracting wild beasts. What the rookies don't realize is that the closer a human being is to eye level with my cat, the more my cat thinks he's going to be fed. If he thinks for one second that you're having some sort of picnic, he will charge at you in an all-out, full-blown sprint.
Anyway, I went and bailed my pet out of the slammer once again. Did he look guilty? Hell no. He was passed out and lying flat on his back snoring in his little cage like some drunk that had just been tossed into a cell after a wild night of debauchery. But, I gathered him up, and a few of the officers gave him a scratch on his head --except one. He suggested that I keep my cat indoors. Of course, it was a little hard to take him seriously since his knees and elbows were covered in grass stains.