Thanos in Athens sent me a videotape. A 3/4" videotape of a film from the sixties. It's one of very few existing copies of a film from our alma mater. My assignment was to take it to the video transfer place to get it transferred to a digital medium, then hand it off to him when he whizzes through town next month. I think it's going to be used for fundraising for the newly resurrected college in question.
I called a few places in Manhattan and ended up at one on Broadway. My compelling reason for choosing it over the one uptown? It's near the Strand bookstore, and I was in the market for a half-price review copy of a new hardcover written by an acquaintance.
I raced downtown after work yesterday, got caught in the rain, and dragged myself—in wet sandals—up some dingy, rickety stairs to the tired old customer service counter.
As the attendant took the the tape and filled out some forms, I felt something brush against my toes. I looked down.
Nothing. But there was a gray cat playing about ten feet away.
I guess the cat was just by my feet.
I looked back up. I scrawled my initials across the blue form and handed over my credit card. Something brushed my toes again.
The cat raced over and tried to scoop out my sandals.
Cuz there was a mouse between my two big toes.
I moved my right foot and the mouse bolted, the cat behind it. The cat trapped the mouse between its paws.
"Um, your cat caught a mouse," I said.
"Yeah, we leave the pest control to her."
"Well, a minute ago it was between my toes."
I was calm about the mouse—after all, this was nothing compared to the time the rat ran across my feet on the back porch in Del Ray when I was a teenager—but I was a little put-out that no one seemed to be concerned about it.
Then the cat let the mouse go. It ran straight at the employee's bag, which was on the floor.
Now she acted. She started kicking the bag from a distance.
I grinned, took my receipt, and went out into the rain.