"Blah Blah Blah Cat."

October 2009.

The little fucker hollered when I pushed open the door.

I needed some beer, and it was about 10 minutes before they stopped selling. At the corner store, the cashier had her infant son perched on the counter, scribbling on a stack of printer paper with a sharpie.

I grabbed a suitcase of beer and hauled it to the front. My financial transaction was interrupted frequently by the boy, scrawling unintelligible shapes and asking his mothers approval. At that point, I had a bit of questionable inspiration.

I just wanted the kid to draw me a little kitty cat, so I asked the cashier if he could draw me a cat.

Unfortunately, the cashier couldn't speak a word of English. I made awkward, frantic pantomimes of a person making a drawing, pointed at her son, and said the Spanish word for cat. She flashed me a very strange, bemused look and said "No Gato" while shaking her head in a way that implied I needed to leave the store immediately.

I worry now, unsure of the context of the conversation I just had.