Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,
Jacqui
jacqui

Lose Your Car -- Get a Cat

I found my car. It was impounded by the LAPD and ended up in a tow yard several miles from my house. And it only took me several hours to figure out where it was, sigh. I'm just amazed that one of my neighbors would be so mean as to call the city to report my smashed up car for being parked in front of my own house. I mean what did they think, that I was planning on leaving it there forever, that I was going to turn it into some kind of permanent memorial to the joy of driving Los Angeles freeways at night?

Guess how much it costs to get a thrashed car released from just two days spent in a police impound yard because someone was offended by the sight of it parked directly in front of it's owner's house? Four hundred and seventy-five dollars. So, just because someone was a stickler for rules, (Cars are not allowed to spend more than seventy-two hours in one spot on a public street, even if that spot is your own parking spot where you leave your car every single day anyway,) I spent all last night and several anxious hours this morning trying to figure out whether my car had been stolen or towed, then stood in line in the hot sun waiting for one of the many men who work at the tow yard to help me.

I was so hurt and was taking it really personally until Scott managed to persuade me not to. I had all kinds of fantasies about knocking on doors and confronting people until I could figure out which of the many neighbors I have done so much for did this to me, but that later faded to the fantasy of writing one of the most guilt and shame producing precision strike letters I've ever written, and dropping one off in each and every mail box on my block, and the next, designed to make just one person feel like shit for having so little compassion and for being such a stickler for the law. Of course I eventually calmed down enough, and got over my self-pitying victim mentality long enough, to realize how insane I was feeling and was able to let it go.

It's just that, I've been through so much with all of this; I'm still dizzy and weak, my head aches, I'm afraid to drive, my arm is raw and scarred, I have a limp, my neck, back, and shoulders are all screwed up, and I can't put any weight on my elbow. The man I allegedly hit in our accident is lying about what happened, and I am feeling fragile and scared. The CHP Officer has opted to separate the accident that occurred in front of us, the one that caused all of this, and consider my accident to be an entirely separate incident with me as the main culprit. There's not even a single mention of the other cars that hit and ran, and he bought the story that the silver car that had been dead stopped blocking two lanes of traffic perpendicular to the oncoming traffic had simply run out of gas and slowed to a gentle stop when this mad woman, (that would be me,) came speeding out of nowhere and smashed into him sending him careening across the freeway crashing into two other cars. Lovely. Oh and of course the whole Pearl Jam concert thing, that never happened either. Somehow my car drove past his, got hit on the passenger side by some invisible mysterious force, spun around wildly, then ended up directly behind him again and smashed into the rear of his vehicle. God help me!

Oh, and I think I told you that my adjuster refused to accept my word for the fact that the mileage on my car was in the low twenties, and said her "system" would kick out the claim because the average mileage for a 2003 Ford Expedition is 50,000? When I told her that all she'd have to do to get the digital readout to work was to strip the battery leads and tie them together to turn the car on, so she could read the odometer, she said this would be too difficult, and that the only way I could prove I only had 22,000 miles on my car would be to find a receipt from a mechanic where they had bothered to write down the mileage. Well, it took the nice guy at the tow yard all of about sixty seconds to hook up the power and get the reading. Mileage? 22,000 just like I said.


This isn't my cat, but it's the same breed, a Bengal. Isn't she cute?

My solution to the problem you ask? Get another cat. Yep, I'm that nuts. And here's what we got; a beautiful Snow Bengal. Don't blame me, blame Beau's fish tank that had us drive way out of our way to the special pet store that has the smart guy who tests our water for us when we're feeling helpless and can't tell our nitrates from our nitrites. Then blame the man who owns the store who put a cage right smack in the front of me and filled it with these beautiful spotted angels. I'll try to take some pictures tomorrow, now Iggy Ziggy has a playmate and Beau and I have a new family member. Thank God for small, or large, miracles.

Hugs,
Jacqui


Isn't this a dream kitty? A cat the size of a dog that looks like a leopard. Heaven on earth. When all else fails, when life is sucking kind of badly, get a cat, works for me...well, sorta.
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