Ocean
Beach is, in my experience anyway, unlike any other southern California beach
city. You see things here—things readily accepted as being a part of normal
life—that would cause alarm or, at the very least, arouse interest elsewhere.
Take,
for example, my experience a few mornings ago.
The
beloved and myself were out for a morning stroll—an early morning stroll...too early for my taste—when we spied
something that, even by the bohemian, counter-culture, über tolerant standards
of Ocean Beach, caused me to do not a double, but a full triple-take.
Now
that I think about it, it could be the first one I’ve ever executed in my
lifetime.
For
there on the sidewalk in front of us, not twenty feet away, was a man with a
pet on a leash.
The
pet was a cat.
A
cat!
You
might as well know that I’m not overly fond of the species, although as a child
I once owned an exceptional feline of whom I was quite fond. He lived to be
seventeen. The rental house where we are summering—is that even a word?—is host
to an ancient twenty year-old kitty. I like that cat as well.
Anyway...
It
was upon spying the unusual sight that the aforementioned triple-take was
executed. I mean, come on now, walking a cat on a leash? Cats? The same
creatures notorious for ignoring even the simplest commands requests of
their masters, owners, staff?
You
know, as I write this, it occurs to me that perhaps I’ve got the scenario all
wrong: Perhaps it was the cat who was walking the man.
That’s
it.
It
has to be.
There’s
simply no other explanation.
Of
course I did once observe two women here in Ocean Beach pulling a duck...wait
for it...in a stroller.
