Sunday, April 26, 2009

Yo, Count, as you can see I’m beginning to talk like my trucker buddies.
I guess it’s ‘cause I’m around them so much, and I’m so well known now
in trucker circles that they all love to give me a saucer of milk and talk to me.
I think I’ve become a sort of a shotgun-seat psychologist to these men
and women. Out on Interstate 39, rolling along at 70 per, next stop 350
miles away, they start to unburden themselves to me. Their love life,
their divorces, their children, their operations, their goals, their
bills, and the price of gas. Of course, being a cat, a superior creature,
it’s hard to grasp their problems and concerns, especially the price of gas.
So, every time we make a stop at the rest area, I take care of my business
And go over to the store to see if I can con them out of a saucer of milk before
my trucker comes along and buys me a can of (YUK!) evaporated milk.
At any rate, I go to the door of the restaurant and a trucker or two will come
along and let me in and I run back to the kitchen and do my act and the
cooks give me treats and then put me out the back door. Then I run around to
my truck and wait for my good buddy to come back and…
“We’re On the Road Again!”
Mercy! Strutz the Cat