I tried to figure out if I have posted this story before, but the blog search feature here is pretty dysfunctional. If you have heard it, just smile and nod along as I do every single day of my life at my folks's house.
(Today it was the one about the time that George the short-order cook threw a guy out of the restaurant for ordering a hamburger at breakfast time. For some reason, that story really tickles my Dad's funny bone. I hear it on average once a week).
The Story of Max
I was volunteering at the animal shelter when a nice-looking college-age young man came in looking for a lost cat.
He described the big fluffly white Persian cat and said that it belonged to his girlfriend, who was at college on the East Coast. Her parents had called her about a week after she got to school and told her that her cat had disappeared and they presumed it had been eaten by coyotes, since they lived out in a rural area.
His distraught girlfriend refused to believe that the cat was dead, and had sent her faithful boyfriend out looking. He posted flyers all over and decided to check the shelter.
"That sounds like Max," someone said, upon hearing the cat's description.
"Max?" the boyfriend said. "That's weird, my girlfriend's cat was named Max."
Yes indeed. The cat was not lost. The parents had turned Max into the shelter as soon as their daughter had hit the road for college. Though the daughter loved dear Max, the parents were not fans.
So now the boyfriend had a quandry. Should he reunite his girlfriend with her beloved pet and let her know that her parents were evil liars, or should he leave Max at the shelter?
He chose to take Max home with him, and to tell the girlfriend.
And she chose to NOT confront her parents. Why? Because she was afraid? No, because, she said, she was saving that evidence for a time when she really needed something good to lord over her parents.