"Hey, do you like cats?"

So, I'm standing outside of the car which is parked in a much coveted parking spot right out in front of the QT or Racetrack or Love's or one of the other many truck stops/gas stations somewhere in the middle of nowhere (in one of the states between the lone star and an other) in the middle of the night, probably around 2:00 am. As I yawn, stretch, and think about how to make my nest in the back seat more sleep-friendly, a lady in the car next to me cracks her car window a smidge and whispers to me, "Hey, do you like cats?" As I am fumbling for a response, the lady gets out of the car (stranger danger!) and stands before me.

OK, I am by no means gorgeous, so when I say this, it is not meant to be anything other than an observation - but this is the type of woman one might see on a 60 Minutes segment, an exclusive called "Truck Stop Bambi: Working for Love." I can say that she definitely has impressive, abundant cleavage; it is such that even when I look away, it still leaves an impression. The corner of her mouth is home to a cigarette that needed to be ashed 5 minutes ago, the grey residue balancing precariously on the tip of the filter, and I want very desperately to call her Lurleen. I do notice (as time, in my mind, is standing still for this observation and I am not at all awkwardly displaying my thoughts through my poker faced countenance) that she is sincere in the question, and thus repeats it to me as if I were autistic.

I manage to squeak out "Yes, I do like cats, but I am a long way from home..."(Lurleen is already opening her backseat, driver's side car door.) She pulls out a tiny, grey, adorably smush-faced kitten and begins telling me a story - something about finding him on a shelf at Home Depot... he reminded her of Batman... name is Brucee.. and something about a make-shift litter box...

I am half-listening as she holds the cat out for me to pet, her cigarette ash flaking a little onto the cat's head (a little red-neck dandruff). I am thinking, "What sort of scam is this? Is someone stealing our car as she has me distracted? If I pet the cat, will I get a disease? Am I ready to work for love? or was it love for work? I still haven't finished the grading for last semester..."

About that time my mom and husband walk up, freshley powdered and coffeed. They get the same scoop, as if the spiel was rewound and replayed (like some sort of rip in space-time). In conjunction, Lurleen prepares a make-shift litter box for Brucee, right behind the wheel of our back tire. Relax - don't be gory -It just means that we knew we would be there a while.

Fortunately for us, Lurleen apparently does not receive the desired response from us about her Home Depot, surrogate mother, breast suffocating cat story. She decides she needs something from inside the convenient store and puts Brucee and the litter back into her car. As we finally back out of our parking space at 2:30 (!) am, we see Lurleen dragging two tired, befuddled people out of the convenient store (by the hands) to her backseat, driver's side car door.

I can't be certain, and I am not a lip reader, but I am pretty sure she was asking them, "Hey, do you like cats?"

What do you make of that? (There is a circus in my brain.)