Thinking about the breakfast I would soon be enjoying (bacon, scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, coffee), I parked the car on the quiet side street in my neighborhood. I didn’t want to take my laptop bag to the restaurant, prefering to relax with the Saturday paper. Into the trunk with the laptop, then. Out of sight, out of mind.
Grabbed the bag, got out, left the driver door open. Popped open the hatch, placed the bag, pulled the privacy screen, closed the hatch.
Went back to close the door and lock the car.
And found a fat tortoiseshell cat in the driver’s seat.
I felt more surprised than he looked. In fact, he looked annoyed at my interruption. He enjoyed the cabin and the seat, warmed by my sitting-place.
“Whatcha doin’ in there? That’s not your car, kitty.” I laughed.
He grudgingly climbed down only when I reached for him, obviously avoiding the indignity of being held by a human.
He sat in the middle of the street while I locked the car, facing away but scowling and squinting back at me over his kitty shoulder. As I walked away I bid him a good day. He sulked over losing his warm napping place, his plans ruined.