Lost In Translation

My cat, Sawyer, thinks I’m bilingual.

Who am I to meow anything differently? Fluent Catanese is not an easy tongue to learn. It’s taken a good 20 years of practice, understanding the dialect and perfecting the correct enunciation.

The thing that continues to confound me, however, is why when Sawyer meows me awake in the middle of the night and I tell him to shut the hell up, he rarely listens. Or maybe his tiny cat brain just doesn’t compute vulgarities spewed forth in the dark.

When it comes to nighttime translations, his hearing seems a bit selective. Eventually, he’ll get tired of spending the night in the laundry room.

-meow-

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My Most Favorite Place

Whether it’s a cup of Obsidian dark roast or a skim vanilla latte I’m after, the crew at Caribou always come through. This morning my order included a cinnamon chip scone. What’s better than that on a cool autumn morning.

While I;m reading my paper in the corner of the shop, in walks a girl and her boyfriend – they might have been 20 years old. She proceeded to be flamboyant as he placed their order, clearly still half-cocked after a night of drinking. He remained polite and attempted to quiet her down. They sat sipping their coffees and all too frequently she laughed loudly and swore.

“Oh, fuckkkkkk!!!’

“Not SO loud,” he’d say. But she kept at it until the shift manager finally walked out from behind the counter and asked her to keep it down.

She gave the manager a dirty look and said, “This coffee is too hot to even drink.”

 

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