Chapter 3 - Cat

My dad returned from his Ontarian vacation last night, bearing no gifts; yes, he failed me once again (although what could you possibly bring back form Ontario?). The only thing he brought back with him were stories of how much fun he had without me. I won’t go into any more long monologues about his vacations and my lack of them, just know that I had to take the bus home from work today, yet again.

I left my work building casually enough, happy to once again be finished with the work day, and looking forward to the next five hours of actual living I’d get to do before dying, like I do every night, on my bed at ten o’clock (only to be born again at six the next morning). (Actually it isn’t even my bed. My bed and my room were stolen by my dad’s girlfriend’s son, when she and two of her kids moved into the house back in February. I still haven’t gotten over it. You wouldn’t be over it either if you were sharing bunk beds with your eleven year old sister.)

I was walking towards my bus stop, unaware of the individual ten metres ahead of me. As the gap between the both of us lessened, the man stepped directly in my path, stopping my incessant march to the bus stop. Before I had a chance to look up at him, he mumbled something utterly inaudible and proceeded to shove me backwards. The push itself wasn’t all that violent, although it did cause me to take a step back. A rush of adrenaline surged through me, but any fear I may have had vanished along with the adrenaline in my blood stream when my eyes were able to focus in on the man’s face. His eyes were barely open, and from what I could see of them between his wrinkled up eye lids, they were rolling around from side to side, bouncing off the random downtown buildings, rebelling against his brain’s demands to focus on the person he was currently aggressing against. His shove had thrown him off balance, and as he swayed left and right in perfect unison with his rebellious eyes, I took another step back, scared that he was about to pass out and fall face first onto the pavement. It looked like the man was a fraction of a second away from crumpling into a heap on the sidewalk, then convulsing uncontrollably and salivating like a dog with rabies as the drug overdose stole the last bit of pathetic life this poor guy had left.

I sashayed my way around him, and stood there with a disgusted and pitying look on my face as his right foot slipped off the curb and landed on the street below with a violent thwacking sound. His knees didn’t seem like they could handle this new multi-leveled dilemma, but somehow he was able to lift his right foot six inches off the ground to get it back onto the sidewalk. With eyes closed he managed, with the help of the side of a building, to sit himself down. By this point he was breathing heavily, and somehow his pale and contorted face, most likely unaware that it was even such a thing, portrayed the feeling of gratification his body felt in this more relaxed position.

When I finally got on the bus, all the seats were taken except for one, and for good reason (as I would soon find out). A few people had even chosen to stand as opposed to sit in the one remaining seat. A small, skinny boy of about 14 with bright orange hair sat in the seat next to the vacant one. If it weren’t for his baby cheeks and lack of any kind of muscle mass, I might have joined the others in standing by the back door.

The boy, let’s name him Cat, was wearing jeans that could easily double as a tent. The pants looked new; they still had that crisp, dark blue colour. Most of the denim material was crumpled up against his shoes, which were also huge and they too appeared to be brand new. They were made to seem as though they were spray painted bright orange, and it almost burned the retinas to look at them. A neon pink quicksilver belt snaked its way through the loopholes of the jeans and wrapped around his legs at mid thigh. This would have left the poor kid fully exposed in his undergarments, but his Ecko sweater covered his crotch and lined up almost perfectly with his pink belt. A person new to our society and its ridiculous styles would think this boy had just robbed someone leaving Mr. Big & Tall. (There is, however, a perfectly logical explanation for such bizarre clothing: it is a common form of deception in many animal species to appear larger than in actuality. Cats, for example, have their hair stand up on end.)

Plopped on Cat’s head was a phenomenon equaling in interest as to that of the Mudslide cap. Except for this time, instead of reeking havoc on the sense of smell, Cat chose to have a comical effect on the sense of sight. (Those of you who wear caps as the one I’m about to describe, I hope you’re aware that you’re laughed at silently by all passersby. If you aren’t aware of this, you have a serious problem and should probably get that checked out.) The boy was wearing one of those "gangsta" hats, and as if they weren’t farcical enough, it is apparently "cool" to leave the bright shiny sticker on the rim (like c’mon, let’s leave the stickers to the second grade teachers who put them on their students’ spelling tests when they correctly spell the word "hat". On the other hand, if 50 Cent does it, it must be cool because he got shot in the face yo!).

Cat’s cap featured a bright array of many colours, and if you looked closely enough (as I got to do) the faint outline of someone’s face could be seen hidden in the mess of visuals. My only guess as to the purpose of this bizarre multicoloured pattern would be for it to act as some sort of mating display resembling those of certain birds in the Amazon.

Cat was sitting for the most part in the middle of both seats, with his knees sticking out to either side as far as he could make them go without pulling any muscles. He was slumped down almost to the point where the back of his neck was jammed against the top of the back rest. He looked terribly uncomfortable, and the stern, I’m-a-tough-guy look on his face showed a hint of the suffering he was putting his body through by sitting in such a ludicrous position. Golddigger could be heard all over the bus blasting out of his iPod headphones.

I stopped by the bench where he was seated and when he finally glanced up at me with a what-do-you-want type of expression on his face, I motioned with my hand that I wanted him to move over. He gave me a contemplative look, and in the end decided to shuffle over.

Obviously unhappy and disturbed by my presence, Cat began to loudly whisper Kanye’s lyrics and bop his head up and down, almost like a woodpecker, although fortunately for him his head never came into contact with any hard surfaces. I stared at him for awhile as he did this, mostly questioning what his parents must think of him, and wondering if his obvious and pathetic bid for attention was due in any part to his mother not loving him. Cat noticed my judgmental stares and stopped his spastic movements. Looking at me with a furrowed brow, he yelled at the volume you’d expect from someone wearing headphones with music playing that loudly:

"WHAT?"

On the roof of Cat’s mouth, an explosion went off as the vacuum his tongue made with his pallet broke. The shockwave, the "tuh" sound, hit my ears first, and echoed in my head for what seemed like forever. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the wet aftermath my face would soon be covered with.