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The Joys of Fur-lined Shoes

The Joys of Fur-lined Shoes

When I wear a pair of shoes, I wear them until they literally fall apart.  My current pair is fast approaching that state, so it was with little surprise this morning when I tried to put my right shoe on and felt a little obstruction; I thought the inseam or whatever had come up inside the shoe.  My mind, lost in the nether-parts of wandering, idly let my hand slip into the shoe to smooth down the inseam.

I was instantly brought back to reality when my fingers encountered the softest, warmest, fur-lining I have ever had the pleasure of encountering.  I am sure the screech that followed would have waked the dead had there been a cemetery within a square mile radius of my apartment.

Down fell the shoe from nerveless fingers.  I stared in mixed bewilderment and shock.  Nothing stirs from the shoe.  Perhaps some poor creature the cats dragged in had found a temporary safe haven and expired during the night.

Gathering more courage, I pick the shoe up and tap in on the side of the table.  A large furry object shoots out onto the floor and looks around dazedly, as if waking from a deep sleep.  Despite its innate cuteness, the next emanation from my vocal chords, while not as loud as the first, bares a striking similarity to certain 3 Stooges sonifications.

 "Nnnyaaaahhhheeeeeeyaaaaahhhheeeeyyyyyaaaaaa" must have its origins somewhere in that deepest part of the human brain that is a leftover from the primordial ooze from which it has evolved. 

While uttering this paleolithic equivalent of "Oh, shit!" my legs are somehow controlled by something a bit more evolved and help propel me away from this menacing (but cute!) rodent.

Leaping forward several million years -- a feat that would raise the eyebrows of even Stephen Hawking -- modern homo sapien resumes control of my vocal and motor co-ordination.

A scant 5 seconds have elapsed since discovering the fiend, yet I am already in the kitchen, opening the cabinet and grabbing the modern day small-mammal hunter's weapon of choice:  two Big Gulp Supersize plastic cups.  Had ancient man such conveniences, I am sure the rat population would show serious signs of recession by this day and age.

3 seconds later, I am once more at the scene of the be confronted by a bare floor (the sneaky bastard!).

Frantically, I search the local vicinity; daintily checking under chairs, behind stereo systems, VCRs -- the varmint seems to have disappeared without a trace!

A sense of safe-being begins to descend upon me, and I casually shift a piece of posterboard away from the wall.  The yelp that follows is both instantaneous and (mercifully) brief.  I have found Carmen Rat-diego!  Damn, he's big!  Big Gulp Supersize will be put to the ultimate test!

With the swiftness and agility of Lou Costello, Stan Laurel and Chevy Chase all rolled into one, this mighty modern hunter of small mammals, sets to the task which can only have one outcome:  utter humiliation!  Sure the beast is eventually caught...but at a price not for others to know! 

Rattus Varminticus is safely ensconced in his new Shawshank.  Before escorting the (adorably cute) critter outside, I first offer him up to the two felines who are the only witness to these events.  Both are surprisingly disinterested...obviously, a human-caught rat is not worthy of their attentions!

With task complete, I joyfully return to my morning preparations -- and spy my left shoe....!

                   --Peter M. Renfro

1202 Raleigh Rd, Chapel Hill, NC 27517 - (919) 968-1181 - email
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