What they didn’t say was that Mocha is no ordinary cat, not by any means.
Never have I seen a kitten jump so high, or run so fast. Never have I encountered such a keen intellect in a cat his age. He is only three months old but reads at a sixth grade level.
He is witty and charming but has a bit of a temper. And whatever you do, don’t trust him with your marbles as he is bound to steal them and put them in your shoes for you to discover later.
I don’t know who his mother was exactly. The adoption agency won’t tell me. I have a feeling she was born of noble blood and so was Mocha by the size of his ego and of his bank account. I didn’t know that kittens came with their own stock portfolio’s but apparently this one does. Once we took him home he immediately got on the phone and called his broker and then his accountant. I didn’t know cats had accountants.
I have a feeling that Mocha is money obsessed and it’s not good for him. He is a bit artificial and frankly snobby with the other cats that have come by and welcomed him to the neighborhood.
And he keeps buying things! Like fancy pet furniture and cases of canned Mackerel. I don’t know where to put it all.
He goes down everyday to Starbucks and gets himself the Vente size Java Chip at Starbucks, he loves it there. And they love him! They have named a drink after him, just shows how persuasive he is!
In fact he is paying me to write this fascinating and favorable post about him. Money does talk and since I am temporarily unemployed the money comes in handy. So watch for more stories about his antics. Maybe next time we can find out how he got such a silly name.
Adventures in Mocha
The voodoo priest and all his powders were as nothing compared to espresso, cappuccino, and mocha, which are stronger than all the religions of the world combined, and perhaps stronger than the human soul itself.
The modern mocha is a bittersweet concoction of imperialism, genocide, invention, and consumerism served with whipped cream on top
I must confess that at times I can have quite the idealised version of life, events and people. I freely admit this. It can be embarrassing, mostly it goes unnoticed but this last week it took me to places I have never been to before.
I noticed an ad in the newspaper. The back cover of a questionable kind of weekly that one can pick up for free around town. It was in bold print and in large letters:
“Liberalactivists needed” I could not believe my eyes. This was one of those moments where you just know the hand of destiny is involved reaching out to guide you. I knew it instantly that this was for me.
I must confess again I am a political junkie nut, at least I was in my idealistic youth. I have since gone to pasture and seed in my garden, I have grown slow and complacent, this I admit. My flowers and flowery words have softened me.
I have longed to get back into the mix of things and shake off some of these middle-aged mom doldrums.
I am a sucker for that democracy thing. I admit that too. I am a rebel at heart and I believe in the power of the people. I imagined my life as a future liberal activist.
Working for a good cause with a good bunch of people, activists like me. Maybe I’d be advocating for the environment or children or the elderly. Maybe I could make a small difference and earn a little extra money while I’m at it. How perfect is that?! I was so excited. It seemed so right. So damn democratic. My red, white and blueness was swelling with a new-found pride. Sure, the system isn’t perfect, but we need to change from within and all this noble gobbledygook ran through my Pollyanna-ish and earnest imagination.
I imagined hobnobbing with local politicians, meeting and conferring with political pundits and strategists, heads of state, dignitaries and great minds from around the world. Gaining valuable insight. Impressing my new-found important friends with my brilliant political mind. Soon I’d attract the attention of higher-ups, who knows, maybe someday….
I showed up for my interview two days later, bright-eyed and ready for action. My pockets were full of black bic pens and a cool new pink phone and breath mints. My hopes were high.
I do have to say I was surprised. I imagined something quite different when I saw the office. I thought the democrats were loaded. This place was humble for sure and disorganized. I smiled and thought maybe I could help here too.
Everyone was stressed and a bit off.
Of course this was the hand of destiny again. They needed my help. I knew it. It was the easiest job interview I have ever been to. I was made for this and I couldn’t wait to show my new employer just what an active activist I would be. My head was swimming with ambition.
Part Three: Cold Reality
And now for something completely different as I find myself on a soggy street corner in the pouring rain in an overpriced ritzy part of town with a clipboard wearing an old tie-dye, a smile and loads of enthusiasm.
I look for my people, my fellow concerned citizens, fellow taxpayers and democratic cohorts, where are they? I scan the silent streets, all I hear is rain. Drip, drip, drip all over my glossy photos and donkey propaganda.
Was this the hand of fate again? perhaps. Stupidity on my part? Yes. Stupidity on the Democrats part? For sure. But the truth of the matter it seemed was that despite all my idealism and earnestness, I couldn’t make someone care who doesn’t and that some people can be downright mean and nobody likes anyone with a clipboard and a cause in the rain no matter how enthusiastic that person pretends to be.
So I am swimming again this time in reality, finally understanding why this job was so easy to get…..I yearn for warmth and caffeine with whipped milk…. for a smiling face, for easy listening music and overpriced coffee cake…yes, that’s it! Starbucks!
I look around..and believe it or not, and this fact is difficult to believe but there is not a Starbucks on every street like it seems. To get to the promised land I would have to leave my assigned area and forge out to the great unknown to find what I needed so badly: A Chai Latte and some sanity…
Dare to Dream
So I embark, clipboard in tow and with my mood improving. I scan the streets for my heart’s desire……and there…. he is! No, not my heart’s desire, but the man who saved me that day. There he was pouring his heart out on the street corner, his cute little pointed hat stood proudly on his tiny head. His face clenched with concentration and fear mixed with pure ecstasy. His violin sputtered and creaked a painful sounding “Somewhere over the rainbow.” I stopped and listened, I almost started to cry.
There he was putting himself out there, following a dream perhaps or maybe just trying to make a fast buck on the side. Whatever it was his obvious lack of any musical talent or ability whatsoever didn’t get in the way of his soul. I could hear it. It was beautiful and it buoyed my spirits.
I saw it as a sign. I gave the little man a dollar and with that act, my luck seemed to change and rather abruptly. The sun broke through the clouds.
I could hear Judy Garland, urging me on….telling me….”Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue And the dreams that you dare to dream, Really do come true.”
I must confess; at one time I was a latte whore. I didn’t care where I got it or how I got It, as long as I got my Chai latte. It is a weakness of mine that I enjoy, this love for Chai latte; it was love at first sip and its been going strong for a few years.
At first it was a no-brainer; there was no question as to where to get this coveted drink of mine..Starbucks. This is the place for me, I decided. It’s a bit corporate, but so what? I know what I’m getting there.
At Starbucks everyone seems so upwardly mobile, so cute in their colorful new clothes..people with jobs and busy lives. Even the slackers types were busy clicking away with the free Wi Fi. Everyone was happy and smiled and were friendly. I guess that is easy to do when you have a job and extra money for fancy coffees.
I like the music in Starbucks, they play all types. It is the only place where I will hear old jazz tunes from the 40’s my eclectic taste perks to attention on that….Billie Holiday and caffeine? What more do you want?
We started to frequent a particular one, M.M. and I. It seemed the lattes were extra good over there. Frothy and creamy with a swirl of spicy…I am in Latte heaven!
One bright late summer morning last year something happened that at first didn’t seem so bad but then as time went on it got worse. What I am talking about here doesn’t sound so bad until you’ve lived it…I really don’t want to offend anyone by what I say. Especially this group of people but in order I tell my story I must…
I can’t put it any other way than this; It was the cops. We would walk in and there they were, a pack of them. At first I thought; cool, I have always thought of the police as people too, and I have always appreciated the risks they take everyday for us. I am not a criminal, I have no record and I should have nothing to fear from the police. They are brave men and women who serve and protect……….but quite the suspicious bunch.
I felt it right away. I looked at them as people, they looked at me like a criminal. I am really very harmless looking, I bet most of them could take me in a fight. It’s obvious. So I am surprised when one looks at me like a potential threat. I suppose they are trained to be like that, and it’s probably necessary in their book. But I can’t help but be uncomfortable.
It is this reason why they are a “they” and everyone else, including the criminals and me are: “We.” It is also the reason we tried a new place down the street; A laid-back appearing hippie type establishment by the name of Tom and Mary’s. A picture of Tom and Mary graced the sign out front, they looked so nice.. I liked them instantly, even before we met. There was tie-dye everywhere and plastic chairs to sit on. The inside looked like the outside but I thought; so what.
No more cops and no more corporate guilt. I am on the edge now, part of the anti establishment crowd …. A latte revolutionist! Aha!
It was a bit downhill after that though; Tom appeared at least twenty years older in person than he did on the sign. He didn’t smile or even look at us at all. He muttered at us while Mary made the lattes. She wasn’t much friendlier. M.M.’s attempts at some sort of witty banter with her fell flat. We could tell she didn’t take fools gladly. Mary was not the laid back hippie princess on the sign, she was a mean old witch. Yikes! The lines on her face told the story.
The place was empty and silent as a tomb. A pimply toucan faced man with a tiny little dog walked in and chatted it up with Tom and Mary who, apparently liked him better than us. I got the impression that this place didn’t cotton to outsiders who looked like Starbucks people. I think it was my purple lipstick and Prada bag but I didn’t feel a part of the whole groove anymore.. My dreams of being a revolutionist dashed, I sighed and tried the drink. It was good, I wanted it to be damn awful, I wanted to spit it out and run back to Starbucks. right then and there.
We went back a couple of times but could no longer stand it. I am glad to say we returned to the corporate giant and then I understood the reason for some of their success. A Smile. The people at Starbucks seemed friendlier and happier. We told those kind people of our ordeal and they welcomed us back with open arms.
And the cops? They seemed friendlier and happier too. And different. Two lady cops at the back booth last time. I secretly drank a toast to justice and lattes and the two ladies in blue totally ignored us.