To the Catboy Who Didn’t Cut Off My Head

Yesterday I had the unpleasant task of running to the bank to deposit the growing stack of money cluttering my house.  To avoid this whole teller/customer interaction I usually try to mail all my banking in , but alas, they don’t yet make envelopes secure enough to hold any amount of my cash.  So, I did the only thing I available to me.  I stuffed my pockets, grabbed a book, and waited eagerly for the #10 bus to take me to my nearest branch.

As I entered the bus I was first amused and then shortly after frustrated by the lack of available seats at 1:30 in the afternoon.  I walked to the back, scanning for an available seat, and that is then when I saw catboy.  He seemed innocent enough, and that smell was surely coming from the vagrants behind him, so I took the available seat next to him. 

Tall, 19ish, and timid he seemed a safe enough bench companion.  Then I started noticing he had his whole arms covered in some sort of fur.  Upon further inspection I realized these arm covers were full out gloves covering from finger tip to bicep.  No bother I thought, and continued to read my book.

Then panic struck me.

What if this is Michael Alig incarnate?  What if this is some club kid who wants to cut my head off, tape it in a box, and throw in the Platte river?

I shifted nervously.

Then, he pulled the stop cord.  The bus gently pulled over.  In a soft, but squeaky voice he politely asked permission to get off and I, being the upstanding citizen I am, moved so he could get by.

As he left the bust I noticed a long piece of fur following him out.  He had a make shift tail stuffed into his back pocket.  He gently hopped off the bus and continue to skip down the sidewalk.

Whew,  made it through that one.  Thank for you not stabbing me Catboy.