The Black Nail

This evening as the sun was setting I took one of my usual strolls through the beautiful quiet neighborhood of Hillsboro Village. I’ve had a heavy heart and a heavier mind this past month dealing with many different things in many different areas of life. Taking a walk in the evening can be so refreshing and peaceful… and on the other hand you never know what you may get yourself into… 

As I was walking, hands in my pockets, breathing in the fresh air and taking in the quaint little cottage houses, I noticed a little black cat across the street from me. And through childhood instincts, I suppose, I ‘meowed’ at the cat (Don’t act like you wouldn’t!). He popped his head up and started sprinting towards me. I thought, “Geez, was it something I said?”  He dove at my feet and I started petting him (…because he was short-haired and wouldn’t make me sneeze til I fell on the ground dead.). I noticed he had a collar and I was thinking that he should probably be inside not roaming the neighborhood. I shrugged it off and decided not to get involved. As I continued walking so did he, following right behind me. Talking very loud. I paused and turned to look at him. As I did he stopped and stared but continued speaking. My compassion got the best of me so I decided to check if there was a number on the collar that I could phone and see if ‘said cat’ was supposed to be in for the evening. As I bent down and took a hold of his collar the little weasel spun his neck right out of it and took off down the street. Here I stood holding a collar with a phone number and a name, Pickle. But no neck in the collar. I could tell that this phone call was not going to go well so I put it off, momentarily.  

The peaceful neighborhood was no longer quiet as a lunatic was yelling, “Pickle!” while running down the street. 

I caught up to him as he dove into someone’s yard surrounded by bushes. I held him while I dialed the number on his collar. He kept squirming and throwing a fit the entire time. As the phone continued to ring I discovered that Pickle had very sharp little claws which he liked to use to see if I bled. The phone rang and rang to no avail… I hung up. I tried to slip the collar back over Pickle’s face as he was spastically head-banging. That didn’t work at all. I couldn’t get the cork back in the bottle. I had to pin him down with my knee as I undid the buckle. He started hissing like a viper and I was saying over and over, “Dude, calm down… Dude.”  

Finally, I was able to subdue his entire body long enough to strap the collar back on and fasten it. I set him loose and we both walked out of the yard. I turned right at the sidewalk and Pickle turned left. It was then that I realized I had just wasted 20 minutes and accomplished nothing… in my attempt to accomplish something. Which is a lot like my life at this very moment. 

I have since retired from my civil duties as an animal rescue… person.