Recently, my friend Bobbie shared this photo on Instagram:
That’s one of her best friends, Sequins, waiting for his dinner in a high chair. Because that’s how Sequins rolls.
It got me thinking about an incident that occurred over a decade ago when Bobbie came to visit me in… where I was living at the time. I’m not sure if the following incident is punishable by law, nor do I know the statute of limitations in such cases, so I need to safeguard some information.
Back in July of 2003, Bobbie came to visit me in that unnamed place, and spent the better part of a week tormenting the locals and spreading sexually-based rumours about me. One evening, whilst walking home from the grocery store, we dropped a large bottle of teriyaki sauce on the sidewalk. I can’t remember how it happened, but I can assure you it wasn’t deliberate – just one of those freak condiment accidents. The bottle shattered and thick sauce splattered across the walkway. Naturally, we did what any other mature adults would do in the same situation: we ran away (fast), leaving shards of glass and a perilous trail of delectable glaze in our wake.
We didn’t sleep well that night – perhaps it was the guilt associated with our misdemeanour. I mean, who abandons broken glass and teriyaki sauce in front of someone’s house? Criminals, that’s who.
The following morning, we retraced our steps and found this calling card in place of the fractured bottle:
The Sidewalk Cat.
It is my belief that a gang of rogue cats cleaned up our mess, and left this ominous insignia behind. A warning, perhaps? Of what, I’m not sure. I suspect it had something to do with Japanese cuisine.