I work for the SPCA

 

I have almost entirely good things to say about the fine work going on at SPCAs everywhere (link to BC one), but they are going to take the heat for this one. I’m throwing this blog up soon after the last one because I need to vent a bit. Counting down from 10 didn’t do it.

I’m in Chapters (the Canuck Barnes & Nobles) in a very hot, arid town called Kamloops, rather Arizona suburb-like. Who knew the desert goes up this far? Anyway, I hear over the P.A. “Will the owner of license plate (mine) please come to the front?” I do and they explain that there have been several complaints about a cat in the car outside. I cock my head and am quickly accosted by a German woman saying, “I work for the SPCA, and …” you can imagine the rest.

As regular readers know, Solomon is the most spoiled, well-cared for creature outside the human children of the 1%. I lost my shit on the lady. I’ll skip the details and jump to the end, which included the German version of an apology, an open door nod at Solomon, and a wish for a happy journey.

Now that I think about it, how has this not happened in the last three years? Okay, good on you, SPCA, real ones or pretenders. Though when you look in the car and you see the below, you probably don’t need to sweat it …

3 thoughts on “I work for the SPCA

  1. I think even the children of the 1% aren’t as pampered as Solomon! They certainly couldn’t ever achieve Solomon’s blissed-out state without chemical stimulants.

  2. You realize that beginning with your border crossing you have been encountering the Canadian penchant for rules. Your customs encounter, the questioning about the cat. You have crossed the border from disorder to order.

  3. I don’t know, Sanjay. It may be the west is different or the frontier spirit or something, but it seems like there are an equal number of scofflaws around here.

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