Stalking Myself

Earlier in the week, I began to notice that everytime I started to get my shit together in the morning to leave the house - coat, where the hell is my charlie card, ear phones that don't work - my cat Jerry would make a mad dash to one of my living room windows to peer out. By Tuesday I was certain he was doing this so he could see me walk by the house on my way to the bus, so when I passed I tried to see if I could catch a glimpse of him - no luck, my eyesight sucks and I couldn't see that far up.

On Wednesday morning I had a nonesensical brilliant idea to get to the bottom of this sad cat lady inquiry - I grabbed my binoculars (of origin I do not know - I have absolutely no reason to own binoculars, I swear they just appeared one day - maybe I was hammered and won them at a carnival, who knows, I don't like to sweat the small stuff, folks).

So I am in front of my house, peering up at my second story living room window with a pair of binoculars when I hear...

"Hello? Hello can I help you? May I ask what you are doing?"

Busted by a little old lady.

"Um, I'm a little embarassed to tell you what I am up to..." I said.

"That's private property* you know...."

"Oh, no, no - it's not what you think. I actually live here...I'm just trying to check on my cat." Because I'm a fucking freak.

"Oh, okay then" she says and walks away.

There truly is no moral to this story - however, I do sleep better at night knowing that if someone, somewhere, somehow is stalking me (one can dream!), there is a fiesty old broad out there who has my back. Even if she probably dialed 911 as soon as she found a pay phone and figured out how to use it.

*Sidenote: By that statement has me wondering if is okay to peer into windows of public properties with binoculars - you'll find me in front of the big window of the Mt. Auburn Street post office at noon tomorrow putting this to the test.