It would be pretty dramatic if I could start this blog post with "The last 24 hours have been the something, something of my life."
That would be super impressive, right?
But I can't start it with that.
Because it is more like the last 30 hours have been the something, something of my life.
Why? You ask.
Well yesterday, I had a simple plan to not watch the Super Bowl and instead have a photo shoot for Women's History Month: The Historical Comedybration (with fabulous prizes) and the go see Theatre Pro Rata's current scary, video gamey play, Neighborhood 3: Requisition of Doom.
However, plans changed. As they do.
Especially when the pal that was the model for the photo shoot and your date to the play gets mugged at gunpoint on the way to my apartment!
Yeah, take a moment. Read that again. One more time. Alright, now you can keep reading.
So that happened. She arrived at my place and called the police. From the 911 operator, we quickly learned there was a string of similar muggings last night as well. The police were on these dickheads tail.
However, this blog post is not going to be about that. I am going to make it about my cat. (I'll write about my adventures as a amater CSI agent tomorrow [maybe]).
But first, a cop had to come over to my apartment to interview my friend. I met the officer at the door and led him to my apartment where my friend awaited.
For a moment full of tension and urgency, the first thing the police officer said as he was frozen in the doorway of my apartment was "Whoa, that is a big cat."
Which is right. I know my cat is large. But this is a Minneapolis Police Officer, he must have seen scary things than a 16 lb tabby cat.
But the thing is, the officer's first response was to comment on my cat, not address the mugging victim that was standing in my apartment. Granted, my apartment is currently strewen about with seven hula hoops, a rubber chicken and a scary clown painting, so sure comment on my giant feline maybe was the only thing he could do when faced with some sort of Uptown circus apartment that Minneapolis's latest mugging victim had found herself in.
But once again, my charming feline roommate has found a way to make someone else's mugging be about him. As the interview between police o and victim, my large cat wound his way between there feet mewing with approval or diapproval at the retelling of a crime by punk as kids.
What really got us was, when the officer confided that these little jerks were robbing people all over the city and every minute counted when they were just one step behind catching this little pricks. That even the fact that my pal had left THE LOCATION WHERE SHE WAS THREATENED WITH A GUN, and came three block over to my place added minutes to the search. Then why did the officer take the extra seconds to comment on my cat's size? That is wasting precious crime-fighting time. Batman never takes a moment to share his opinions on stranger's pets. You know why? BECAUSE CRIME DOESN'T LAY (down to sleep that is.)
So there we have it. I have a large enough cat that will cost police officers pause and therefore cost them time in solving crimes. It's CSI fat cat.