Cat Fight

Kylah had a soccer game in Abbotsford this morning right before Freddy's game at the same field which worked out quite nicely. Ethan, Freddy and I dropped Andrew and Kylah off at her game for her warm-up, and the three of us headed off to Tim Hortons for some breakfast.

I have had the worst pregnant-mama heartburn this side of the Mexican border and so therefore I go to bed hungry in hopes of warding off the horizontal food-burble. I am usually off-my-face starving in the morning but we were in a rush and I hadn't had the chance to eat anything and so by the time we pulled into the Tim Hortons parking lot I was ready to pick off and eat the dried bits of food stuck to the van seats.

Pulling into the parking lot, we noticed that the drive-through lineup was uncharacteristically long so we decided to go inside to get our food. They were out of sausage, so I ordered two bacon and egg sandwiches, some bagels and coffee. We waited through three Christmases for our food to be ready at which point they informed us that they have also run out of bacon. I decided to get my money back and get the hell out of there, but while I was doing the transaction, a lady in the back of the lineup yelled at the top of her lungs (red-faced, protruding forehead vein, balancing on a pair of crutches), "GET TO THE BACK OF THE LINE, BITCH!!!!!!" The whole place went silent. I spun on my heels and took two steps toward her and informed her that I was not budging, but that I was getting my money back for the food I ordered that they didn't have. Keeping her eyes fixed on me, she repeated again, "BITCH." I swear that the only reason she didn't come over and put her fist through my face was because a) she couldn't walk and b) she really wanted her doughnut. 

The boys were behind me and knowing that they needed both their food and an intact human being to drive them back to the game, I decided to keep quiet. And where were all the cops, anyway? They're always there when we don't need them but as soon as I lose my bacon and get screamed at, they're nowhere to be found.

You never know who the bad guys are, you know? Like walking through the mall or sitting in a coffee shop. And in fact, we're usually totally wrong when we think we know who people really are. The guy in the trench coat could have just had a laundry day, and the lady living with 148 cats in the feline rescue house probably waxes her bikini line and insists on leather interior.

The other day I mistook a raccoon for a cat scurrying across the road, and this morning at Tim Hortons I mistook a doughnut-crazed woman for a sane person. Despite each animal's similarities, one will leave the other for dead in an instant. And probably all over a fight for some food scraps.