I was just about to head out the front door when the telephone rang.
I put down my fishing rod and tackle box and picked up the phone.
"Hello. OK," tapping my fingers on the wall. "I'll be there in
a few minutes."
I hung up the telephone and headed out the front door. I
watched the traffic very closely as I had to walk across a busy
highway in order to get to the furniture store, located across the
street.
My friend, Sherman, had telephoned and asked me to help him pick
up some used furniture which he had purchased earlier that morning at
an estate sale in Modesto.
When I arrived, he was pulling around the building in his large
white U-haul type truck. I opened the cab door and slid in.
Nothing was said as we drove. He knew I despised his driving
and that it irritated me to no end. Sherman was one of those drivers
who constantly pushes the gas pedal and then releases it -- over and
over again. It never stops. I was at wits end when we finally
arrived at the small apartment building.
The back of the truck was opened and out came the hand trucks.
Around the building we headed until we reached apartment 147.
Just as we reached the door it opened and there stood a young
woman about 25 years old. As we talked, a slightly older man walked
up behind her. He jumped trying to block the doorway as a large,
longhaired cat tried to escape. But the cat was scared to death and
ran back into the apartment.
"I'm going to get that little sucker and put him in the
bathroom." said
the man, with a very serious look on his face.
I watched as he trapped the cat in the living room corner and
threw him into the bathroom.
"What's with the cat?" I asked Sherman.
"It belonged to her mother. She died several weeks ago and I
guess they don't want it."
"Why would someone not want to keep something that loved their
mother?" I asked. Sherman just shrugged his shoulders and entered
the apartment.
For the next hour we broke down beds and furniture and loaded
the truck. When all was done Sherman paid the woman and we turned to
leave.
I stopped in the doorway, turned around and said, "You not going
to hurt that cat are you?"
The man replied,"I don't want the dang thing !
"
"Can I use your telephone," I asked the woman. She pointed to
the kitchen.
I walked into the kitchen, picked up the phone and telephoned my
wife. I explained the situation and was rather surprised when she
firmly rejected the suggestion that we take the animal.
Slowly, I hung up the telephone and turned toward the man.
"We'll take the cat," I told him.
I looked at Sherman, who was now shaking his head.
I held the scared cat on my lap until we returned to the
furniture store. Carrying the cat against my chest, I jumped out of
the truck and walked across the highway. Slowly, I opened the front
door of my house and let the cat walk in. I quietly closed the door
and walked back across the street to help Sherman unload the
furniture.
When I was done, he paid me and I headed back to my house.
I opened the front door and hearing nothing, I began to look for
the cat. When I finally got to the kitchen I saw my wife sitting at
the end of the kitchen table holding and petting the cat.
"WHERE THE HECK DID THAT COME FROM?" I yelled, acting surprised.
"I don't know. He just was here. He came walking into the
bedroom. Isn't he beautiful?" she replied.
"Well, we are not keeping it," I told her.
"If we can't find the owner we are keeping it," she advised me.
"If I couldn't keep that cat I called you about you are not
keeping that animal," I said, in a very stern voice.
"We'll see about that," she said, as she walked out of the
kitchen, carrying the cat in her arms.
Well, the cat named "Hema" lived with us until our divorce,
seven years later. The judge granted her the cat in the divorce
proceeding and he lived with her for another eight years.
That incident was one of the few secrets I ever kept from my wife.
-- Roger Dean Kiser
You can visit Roger's wonderful website at:
The SECRET
