Of Cats and Old Women

MEMO: TO THE TOOTHLESS RESIDENTS OF 9037 JOSEPH ST., MAYBEE, MICHIGAN
DATE: JULY 25, 2005

Before you start complaining about me being late coming to your house AGAIN, let me tell you just what I went through to celebrate all those teeth you lost since my last visit. Elizabeth- you look simply lovely with that wee little space showing whenever you smile. Stephen, I can’t possibly know just how many of your teeth I’ve lost because of my disastrous adventures, but I hope you know that I didn’t miss them out of disinterest. Surely you will forgive my tardiness once the facts are known. Facts, I say, because in the following account, you will find no hint of fabrication or exaggeration. That means I’m NOT lying. So there.

If you must know, I met a certain friend of yours when last I attempted a visit to your home. A FELINE friend. With four very fast legs. And teeth. Sharp, nasty teeth, capable of locking my poor gown in an inescapable grip (I’m not complaining, mind you. It could have been my leg. Or arm. Or *shudder* head...) Anyway, it happened like this.

I arrived by the Angel post through the usual process (top secret, you understand) on a fine autumn day. It wasn’t hard to get near your house unseen, given how long the grass had grown out front, or the many objects strewn about. Tsk*tsk* You really should take more pride in the appearance of your yard!

Well, I was hiding in a knight’s helmet lying under one of the bushes out front, peering out through the visor (knight’s helmet? In this century? Flimsy thing, too! What could you possibly be using it for?) when I heard an ominous growl. I turned to face, in utter terror, two green eyes and a grey tabby face, licking its lips. Of course I backed away as far as the visor allowed (not far), while razor-sharp claws extended toward me. Keep in mind that we Tooth Angels are not guardians, so we travel unarmed. Well, not unarmed. I had both arms (still do, no thanks to that cat of yours)- but I faced a huge carnivore with no weapon more lethal than my tooth bag strung over my shoulder. I whipped it at the batting paw. Big mistake! It caught on one of the claws, and I found myself being dragged by my neck, out from under said helmet. Before I could do more than scream bloody murder (fearing mine), that animal had its teeth set in my gown and was carrying me off to your garage, dangling me in a particularly undignified manner (ruffled underwear waving for all the world to see!) up to its little hide-away up in Becca’s fort in the garage loft.

When Princess (yes, it was your precious Princess who nabbed me) dropped me, she promptly held me down with her paw, and commenced licking me. Angel sweat must not appeal to cat tastes, however, because when she licked under my arm she began gagging like she was trying to bring up a hair ball. That was my chance to make a run for it. I made the sprint of my life toward the darkness under the edge of a tarp, which was lying over that heap of useless, broken tents with missing poles that you are storing up there for emergencies. I spent a long time hiding amidst that musty, moldy canvas. A long, hungry time. I never could sneak off undetected, what with the dust and mold kicking up my allergies and causing me to sneeze every time I moved. That darn cat just sat there, staring at my hiding place with unblinking green eyes, right there every time I peeped out. Every once in a while she disappeared- mainly when you guys did the “Here, kitty, kitty!” thing. That gave me great hope, except it always was immediately followed by you setting food out right below me in the garage. Big help, guys. Cat still guarding garage. Tooth Angel still stuck in the loft. Besides, even if the cat did disappear, how was I going to get down? You have that ladder strategically placed just beyond my jumping range, thank you very much. You do know that my wings were clipped after the last fiasco at your house, just because I went AWOL afterwards? (I really didn’t think the Heavenly Guard would think to look for me in Hell [Hell, Michigan, that is]). My flying days are long gone.

Eventually I realized that I would never get away from there if I didn’t do something drastic. I decided to turn that cat into my ticket out of there. So, being brave & courageous (and desperate), I took a flying leap onto Princess’ back as she crouched below me, drinking the most recent can of tuna juice you set out for her. I figured she was softer than the hard concrete floor, or any of the sharp metallic objects jumbled about like the deadly traps in an Indiana Jones movie. When I landed on her, she let out a yowl they could hear all the way over at the park! She took off like her tail was on fire, yowling all the way. I had no idea cats could run that fast! She kept going, with me clinging there for dear life, legs flapping in the screaming wind, never giving me a chance to safely jump off- all the way to Petersburg, where she finally ran out of steam on a trim porch of a little white house. In case you’re wondering, I was still clinging to said collapsed cat. My crippled fingers wouldn’t unclench from the fur on her back. Princess let out a plaintive meowl.

There was the sound of heavy objects dragging inside, then bolts opening. A sweet old lady, pasty of face, with wispy blue-tinted hair and sleeves rolled up, hands still wet with dish water and a dagger tattooed on her forearm, opened the front door with a gruff, “What in tarnation?” She had recently retired after 50 years of driving big rigs, and was feeling a bit lonely. That old lady (Mrs. Montmorency, by name. Mabel Montmorency, or Speedo, as her CB buddies dubbed her in her trucking days) decided Princess looked like she needed a nice stable home, free from vermin. She shook Princess vigorously, sending me flying into her prize rose bushes (Ouch!), and carried her into her house, where I assume Princess remains to this day. I heard the chains and deadbolts locking inside, and heavy furniture being pushed with a thud against the door. I don’t imagine that poor animal ever got to see the light of day outside again, in case you’ve been wondering where she is.

I spent the next two long years walking back to Maybee. I won’t bore you with my further adventures. Needless to say, I was NOT surprised to hear that the baby of the family has now lost a tooth. Don’t you guys EVER run out of teeth? Or kids?

So... better late than never. You both will find your money under your pillows. If you don’t mind, I left the teeth- my tooth bag is long gone, and my hands shake too much these days to keep hold of them.

Yours forever (apparently),

The Tooth Angel