Two Cats in the Yard

It is 3AM and we have been told to move our truck. We have an early morning delivery, so my trainer parked last night in the receiver’s yard despite the signs prohibiting such. Why would a receiver make life difficult in this way for the truckers on whom he depends? Insurance regulations, probably, or possibly just the knowledge that truckers, given a place to park, will also pee there.

Yesterday evening was beautiful. It was 10:30 when we pulled in, and I went for a walk. Along residential streets near the university, solid older two-story houses, with lawns and gardens, lawn furniture, garden gnomes, all the trappings of normal life. Lights yet burned in upstairs windows here and there, a few night owls could be seen yet in parlours and on porches.

Minneapolis seems like a really pleasant place. Clean, tidy, friendly, with an admirable attention to the esthetics of even utilitarian structures. Attractive bridge railings, lampposts.

A friendly street person crossed my path and blithely wished me a pleasant evening. Two black and white cats, lounging on the sidewalk, greeted me like an old friend, bumping their heads against me, twining around my ankles, eager for affection. I petted them and scratched their heads for a time, then went on my way. The cats bounded along beside me like porpoises, stopped at the end of the block to sit and watch me go. A bittersweet meeting, as it brought me in mind of my own cat back home, how miserable she is when I am gone, how much I miss that warm purring ball of fur.

This is the second time I have been here to Minneapolis, both times delivering mushrooms from Pennsylvania. Each time I have been struck by the politeness of the drivers. The instant I hit my turn signal, cars back off to let me in. It would be nice to spend some time here, bring the cat and rent an apartment for a few months, find myself a nut-brown maid.

Just now we have to roll around the block, find a place to park for three hours, continue our interrupted sleep, deliver these mushrooms, and head down to Faribault to pick up 40,000 pounds of frozen turkey.

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