Miss Prissy, remember, is the cat that belongs to the homeless man.  In fact, she is the cat who rides on his back while he rides his blue BMX bike around town, until last Tuesday.

Miss Prissy was tucked inside the man’s violet-colored fleece.  She bounced left and right as he pedaled, an unbelievably calm look on her face or perhaps reconciliation, one front leg out of the fleece up by her ear, the way a child will carry all manner of small critters.  No one, to my knowledge, had ever seen Miss Prissy riding inside of the man’s fleece.

This morning I turned onto College Way and the homeless man swerved his bike into the lane next to me, the one that turns left into the Safeway parking lot.  He was alone.  No Miss Prissy.  Oh no.  I rolled down my window.

“Hey!”  I waved at him.  “Where’s your cat?!”

He looked over to see who was yelling at him, grinned and hollered back, “She had babies last night!  She’s home.  She had some babies!!!”

“Right on!” I waved a celebratory fist.  “Good job!”

“Yeah!  I know!” He smiled so big, so proud.  And then he turned left into the Safeway parking lot and I continued on down College Way.  Thank goodness there was one cat out there, well two actually, who aren’t fixed, because really, sometimes things aren’t broken.