Well, Cats Do Believe They Are Gods

This happened in an awful snowstorm that hit the east coast of the US. I was heading home from work and needed to get something, so I stopped at a large big box store where some of my friends work, knowing from their texts that they were still at work despite the snow. I figured, “Well, if it’s really dead in there like it was at my work, I can hang around and chat with them as I do sometimes.”

I got to the place and it was a madhouse. Apparently, nobody had ever seen snow before, and folks were buying bottled water, milk, bread, and flashlights like the Apocalypse was upon us all. Bummer, can’t hang out, but I can still get some things, and I even snagged four sodas to distribute to my friends.

After going through the lines, I looked around and spotted [Friend #1], [Friend #2], and [Friend #3], but [Friend #4] wasn’t where he’d been a moment ago. Oh, well, the dude is built like a fridge, and every time a little old lady needs something huge hauled to her granny-mobile, he’s the one they get, so I went and peered through the opener-closer doors.

Sure enough, there was [Friend #4] in his bright orange hoodie, way out in the parking lot where the snowplows hadn’t even been. He was talking to someone in a car that was at the end of the most fabulous display of twisty-turny car-tire cursive I have seen this side of a “Dukes Of Hazzard” rerun. I could see from the tracks that this vehicle was likely being driven by someone really far Southern who had never seen snow before.

Being my helpful self, I started walking across the parking lot to see what was up. A couple of other people, including my dear old boss, were gathering around the spun-out car, and as I got closer, I heard them talking.

Friend #4: “Ma’am, you really need to put something in your trunk. Then you’ll be able to drive safely.”

Driver: “No, it’s a Mercedes. I just need someone to scrape this lot. Can’t you call a snowplow?”

Random Lady In Scrubs: “We only have two in town, and one’s up at the hospital clearing their lot.”

I noticed that the driver had really-far-Southern plates, and she had a sort of elderly, rich, “my husband normally does the driving” look to her.

Driver: “Well, can’t you get some shovels and clear a path for my car?”

Friend #4: “Nope. For one thing, it’s a liability issue, and for another, we sold out of shovels an hour ago. I really do think that some weight in the trunk would put it right, though.”

Boss: “Really, ma’am. My other car is just like this, and with a rear-wheel drive, you’ve really got to load the trunk down to drive in snow.”

Driver: “No, it’s a Mercedes. I’m not putting crap in the trunk. You hicks need to plow this lot!”

I walked over.

Me: “Ma’am, is there a problem?”

I used my poshest Mid-Atlantic tones — basically my “customer service” voice that covers my real accent.

Driver: “Oh, thank God! Yes! These people won’t call a plow for my car, and I need to get back to my hotel!”

That gave me time to notice two things. One, this awful Mercedes-driving lady had a rosary on her rear-view mirror, a crucifix on her neck, and a St. Christopher medal clanking against it. I have relatives on the one side who are just like her. And two, she had a small amount of animal hair on the sleeve of her oh-so-posh black coat, similar to the one that I was wearing. So, she was assuming I’d be sympathetic because I looked as glamorously freezing as she did and sounded like I’d just left the country club.

Me: “Actually, I wouldn’t try to plow around your car. I mean, supposing the plow was to skid and crash into it? Do you know how much new fenders for a Mercedes cost?”

Driver: *Clearly not having thought of that* “Oh, my God!”

Me: “Exactly! I think that’s just who we need to involve, don’t you? I’m going to tell you what Father Patrick told me for getting home safely in snowstorms; it works simply every time. What he told me to do was go to a store like this one and buy as much clay cat litter and pet kibble as you can fit in your trunk. Simply fill it up! Everything else you bought, just put it on the back seat and trust Jesus. Then, you need to say a quick prayer to St. Jerome, and you need to promise that if he gets you through the snowstorm, you’ll take the animal things to a shelter and donate them the minute the roads are clear. Your good deed for the animals will be enough to keep the car safe, really, and with the Saint’s intervention, God will get you right out of this mess. Father Patrick told us all about it in his last Advent homily; it got him back home from Alaska without a skid. Oh, and drive slowly and carefully.”

Driver: “Really?! Do they sell pet supplies here?”

Me: *Gushing* “I just bought a few myself, since it was so snowy.”

Driver: “Then that’s it! Oh, God bless you!”

And with that, she got out of the Mercedes and started slipping and scurrying over the slushy mess back into the store.

Boss: “I didn’t know you were Catholic. I saw you in church yesterday.”

Me: “I’m not. She is.”

I pointed to the rosary on the rear-view mirror.

Me: “And I’ve known enough of them to ‘speak it.'”

Boss: “So, there’s no Father Patrick?”

Me: “Well, I’m sure there must be at least one priest somewhere called that. None that I know of.”

Friend #4: “And will St. Jerome really protect her car?”

Me: “If she promises to take the cat litter she’s filled her trunk with to the pet shelter, then possibly.”

Boss: “Whoa. So, you just…”

Me: “…translated y’all’s good advice into ‘religious rich snob’ language? Yeah, pretty much. Oh, and I got you this ‘cause it was such a madhouse in there.”

I gave [Friend #4] his soda.

Friend #4: “Welp, I’d better go help her load up all the cat litter. Just sell her the heaviest?”

Me: “Whatever’s heavy and cheap. The shelter doesn’t like clumping so much as regular, but whatever she wants to buy. And maybe persuade her that the Saint will be impressed by senior and kitten chow; they cost more and shelters always need ’em.”

Boss: “I know I’m not allowed to ask, but I really have to wonder now… What are you, religiously?”

I grinned.

Me: “Isn’t it obvious, boss? I’m a crazy cat lady.”