A peculiar thing just happened. It’s a nice, groovy Sunday night in Los Angeles. The homeless guys that camp out at the Chase were attending to their pet rabbit and the breeze was cool and sweet. Everybody was hanging out of their windows enjoying the cooler temperatures the nighttime brought. The street buzzed with light traffic. I had headphones over my ears, big, padded ones, so I was completely in a Ra Ra Riot zone, minding my own business, strolling down the street in shorts and Converse and feeling just fine in every sense of the word.
Suddenly, from an darkened doorway a kitty kat came darting right towards me — and I can’t hear if it’s hissing or purring, I don’t know if it is friendly and just wants to play or if it is an enemy cat and plans to nip at my calves any second. It proceeded to rapidly scurry around my feet, insistent, it seemed, on getting stepped on. One minute I’m coasting down the sidewalk listening to music and consumed in my private thoughts and the next I’m jumping up and down trying to avoid a pesky feline that was obsessed with seeing the bottom of my shoe apparently. The cat kept following me, egregiously invading my personal space for a couple of apartment buildings now. I thought it was going to attack any second and I was kinda scared, (I will admit) and took a mental list of my defensive options, but when I looked down all I saw was a precious little kitty, an adorably cute ball of fur, it wasn’t like it was a raccoon or even a dog. This cat was like Garfield’s precocious cousin Nermal in the sense that induced a warm fuzzy feeling even while assaulting me, and so I couldn’t kick it even if it did bite me, the lil’ vicious cutie. I was helpless to protect myself. The whole ordeal was a trifle unsettling, but then just as randomly as it started the chase the cat abruptly gave up, leaving me in peace to go hunting after some shadows on the sidewalk instead, and that’s all I was to it.
I finished the walk, shakened but alive.