Karma Is Cat(ching)

, , , , | Friendly | August 15, 2017

My mom works as a city hall archivist, and as we live within walking distance of it, I frequently meet up with her at the end of her work day to help with shopping and the like.

I’m heading inside, and as I’m passing a few dumpsters, I’m greeted by a kitten — weaned and old enough to be on its own, but by no means an adult cat. Being a cat person, I obviously stop to talk to it. The kitten is friendly and healthy, though attention-seeking. My home town has had a serious problem with stray cats, but this one doesn’t seem to be that. It seems more lost and desperate. I spend a few minutes with it, and something about the situation just doesn’t seem right with me. There’s not much I can do, though, so I head inside and inform mom and her colleagues about the cat, even pointing it out to them.

The next day, mom comes home from work and tells me the cat was a pet, and they managed to track down the owner! Turns out, however, that this wasn’t just a case of a lost pet.

The woman who owns the cat lives in the neighbouring town, which is about ten kilometres away. She’d recently brought the cat home, but her boyfriend didn’t like it. Rather than dealing with this issue like a sensible adult, he takes the cat for a drive while his girlfriend is out of the house, and dumps it so far away it wouldn’t be able to find its way back. It’s his deservedly bad luck that I found it and figured out something was wrong. Also, in his haste to get rid of the cat, he neglected to remove the collar, which had the owner’s phone number.

In the end, the cat was reunited with a loving owner. As for the boyfriend, I have no idea what happened to him… though he certainly deserved getting dumped.

This Is Complete Bull

, , , , | Right | August 14, 2017

Customer: “Hey, I’m looking for a cow costume.”

Me: “Yes, sir, I actually have several cows. I’ll bring one right out.”

Customer: “You have several? Good, I actually want two: a male and a female.”

Me: “Okay, sir, I’ll be right back with both.”

(A short time later.)

Me: “Here is the cow, and this is one of our bulls. I actually have him in three colors: black, white, or brown. Do you have a preference?”

Customer: “A bull? That’s your male cow?”

Me: “Uh, yes. A bull is a male cow.”

Customer: *skeptically* “I don’t know about that.” *leaves without getting anything*

Littered With Instructions

, , , , | Related | August 8, 2017

(I’ve been given a rare opportunity to take a trip abroad. My dad has offered to take care of my two cats for me, so I don’t have to pay for boarding and the cats can be more comfortable at home. In his early 60s, Dad’s mind is as sharp as ever, but things like listening and following directions have never been his strong suit, for his whole life, to hear my aunt and uncles tell it. Before I leave for my trip, Dad comes over so I can show him where food is kept and how to use a bin I have by the litter box to make scooping easier. It’s a pretty simple design: you scoop the waste into the top compartment, pull a handle, and the waste falls into a compartment below to be taken out and disposed of once the bag is full. I offer to walk Dad through it but he assures me he’s got it down. After a week away, I return home and Dad picks me up from the airport.)

Dad: “You know, that litter contraption of yours is a waste of money. It doesn’t cut down on the smell at all, and it barely holds anything! I sprayed some of that air freshener you’ve got but I thought I’d better warn you. The whole apartment stinks.”

Me: “Really? That’s so weird. I’ve always found it to be very useful, and I’ve never had any complaints before. You used it according to the directions, right?”

Dad: “Of course I did, just like you told me. How much did you pay for that thing, anyway? If it was more than five dollars you got swindled.”

(I get home and go straight to the bathroom where the litter box is kept, and sure enough, the top compartment of the litter bin is overflowing with dirty litter, while the bag in the bottom is empty. For a full week, dad had been scooping litter into the top without pulling the handle to empty it into the bottom. Thankfully, a little airing out and some pet odor-removing spray was all it took to get rid of the smell!)

An Animal Lover And A Hugger

, , , , , | Related | August 8, 2017

(I work as a ticket collector for a public farm. They have a play area for children, with tons of attractions like a corn maze and bouncy castles, and of course, farm animals. The animals are caged in so they can’t injure the guests or vice versa. A teenager and their father comes up to the ticket booth. The father doesn’t seem to speak English well.)

Dad: “Can… Can you… hug the chickens?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, could you please repeat that?”

Teen: *cuts in, embarrassed* “Can visitors interact with the farm animals?”

Me: “No, sorry. They’re behind a fence for the visitors’ safety.”

Teen: “Oh.” *in Chinese to the dad* “I don’t want to go if I can’t hug the chickens.”

(We have two pet chickens in the entire farm. There are petting zoos for a reason.)

So Cute You Could Just Eat Them Up

, , , , | Right | August 6, 2017

(I work on a college campus as a dispatcher for the campus police. The college is small and backs right up to a mountain and desert area so there can be wildlife. It also has a larger number of international students. One evening I am at work and my sergeant on duty is going over paperwork in the office when I get a panicked, hysterical 911 call.)

Me: “911, what is your emergency?”

Caller: *with a heavy accent* “Oh, oh, oh, please! You have to help! You have to help!”

(Adrenaline starts pumping; I can tell by her voice that she is truly terrified. My change of demeanor has my sergeant leaping up, ready to get out the door as soon as we have a location.)

Me: “Ma’am, please tell me where you are.”

Caller: “I’m in my car— I’ve locked the doors. Oh, my god, there are people walking around! They are going to get eaten!”

Me: *thinking: WTF, eaten?* “Ma’am, what is the emergency? Where are you parked?”

Caller: “It’s— There’s— It’s wild foxes! They are right here! By the [Building], just-just-just here!”

(My sergeant, who is listening but can’t be heard, loses it. She is cracking up so much and I have to stay professional sounding.)

Me: “Ma’am, did the foxes approach you in anyway? Are they following people around?”

Caller: “No; oh, god, is someone coming? There are people just out and they could get eaten!”

(My sergeant indicates that she will go so the other officers can complete their rounds.)

Me: “Yes, ma’am, an officer is on there way. Foxes generally don’t eat people. It is okay.”

(My sergeant is there in about three minutes and then calls me less than ten minutes later, laughing so hard she is crying.)

Sarge: “[My Name]! They… they… they are just two baby foxes! Tiny cubs! Playing in the sprinklers… She locked the car and wouldn’t even roll down the window to talk to me! There are students taking pictures of the foxes. I finally got her to crack the window and convinced her she could drive away. BABY foxes!”

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