Stories

Hot Pot / by Lee Hurlburt

I was so excited! We were going in our new 1927 car on a long trip to visit Mommy's brother and his family. Mommy and Daddy let me bring Miss Kittycat. She was a black cat with a white spot on her nose.

Mommy cooked a pot of baked beans for our lunch. She put the pot on the floor of our car in back of Daddy's seat. He drove. He always drove. He never let me drive and I was almost six years old.

"Don't touch that pot," Mommy warned me, "that pot is hot. And watch your cat."

I sat in the back seat behind Mommy. I was far away from that hot pot. Miss Kittycat laid beside me so I could pet her. She's a pet. You need to pet pets. That's why they are called pets.

Daddy drove. And drove. And drove. It seemed forever. Miss Kittycat and I were bored, bored, bored. Miss Kittycat walked over me and around the back seat. Suddenly she jumped and landed on the lid of the hot pot with all four paws.

"Eeeeeeooooo," she screamed and jumped into the air with all four paws outstretched. She looked like she was trying to fly away.

Birds can fly. Cats can't.

She landed on the back of Daddy's neck, still screaming. Daddy screamed. Mommy screamed. I was no longer bored.

Daddy started using bad words. He grabbed poor Miss Kittycat, then threw her in the back seat.

"Hold on to that blankety-blank-blank cat," he yelled at me.

Poor Miss Kittycat kept screaming. Daddy pulled off the road near a small stream.

"Put that blank-blank cat in the water."

I did. In a minute Miss Kittycat stopped screaming. She got out of the water. She stretched and yawned. Then Miss Kittycat smiled.