Cat Scratch Lotto Fever
by Shauna Checkley
When the toddler pelted Ada with his French fries, she didn’t bother to duck. Rather, she just swiped her soiled, orange sponge over the Formica tabletop and hurried away, pushing her cleaner’s cart along.
It was late morning Wednesday, not quite lunch hour. The food court at Polo Park Mall was still relatively clean, and the crowd was sparse. Ada moved slowly from table to table. Can take my time a bit, she thought and exhaled in relief.
It was just another day on the job for Ada. She had worked there for months, lost count even as time seemed to blur and smear as surely as ketchup. But it didn’t really matter, though, since the days there were nearly indistinguishable. One. From. The. Other.
Proudly holding up the super-sized cheque, Ada spoke magnanimously to the gathered crowd:
“Friends, I’m so happy to bequeath a million dollars from my recent lottery win to our local cat rescue. These funds are to be used to buy a property and set up a much-needed cat shelter. “
Deafening applause, whoops, Hallelujah-like shouts of exaltation from those gathered, mostly exhausted and burnt-out veterans of cat rescue. Ada felt like a rock star if only for a moment.
“Hey, you gotta cloth?” the man barked in dismay. His coffee had spilled and was running over the edge of his table and onto the brown cracked-tile floor.
Ada rushed there and began wiping it up. Some coffee sloshed on her arm and her deep scratch began to sting.
“Why can’t they use sturdier cups than those flimsy, paper-thin things they give here? The cups here are so crappy!” he complained loudly.
He frowned at her. She instantly hated him and his unsightly unibrow. With his wild black hair, he reminded Ada of Bert from Sesame Street.
Then he returned to his cell phone.
Once finished, she pushed her cart to the far side of the food court. Fuck off, Bert.
Seeing Mavis, the other, senior half of their work crew, bent over picking at a cluttered table like you would an unruly garden gave Ada a rare glimpse of hope. She approached Mavis. “How’s your day going?” Ada asked
Mavis smiled, shrugged. She was the oldest on staff, probably sixty plus and the only coworker that Ada could even tolerate. The others were young, part-time girls that secretly texted and vaped and spoke in code to exclude Ada and Mavis, the two older ones.
Still, Ada relied in part on Mavis. Quiet, patient, laconic, Mavis was an institution. For it was hard for Ada to even envision the older woman outside of the workplace. Mavis seemed like she was part of that environment same as the booths and benches, savory aromas, and cold tiles.
Pointing at the long, pink scratch on Ada’s arm, Mavis made a face and said, “What happened to you?”
“Willow, my cat, got me when I was brushing her teeth.” Ada explained about the stigmata-like gouge.
Mavis made another face.
They chatted briefly. Then moved on.
With golden scissors poised to cut the long, red ribbon, Ada stood at the front entrance. It was at the three-story modern office complex that she had recently renovated into a swanky cat hotel. The media was out in full force to capture the event. Lights. Cameras. Everything.
The crowd gathered pressed towards her. The sense of goodwill energy was near palpable. All was abuzz.
The mayor cleared his throat then spoke. “For your generous donation, our fair city dedicates and christens this cat sanctuary as Ada’s Shelter. You may cut the ribbon.”
Ada did. More deafening applause. The crowd rushed her. Some even reached out to touch this local hero, new celebrity. Ada felt like a torch aflame. A candle lit. She felt as special as she did back in those lost, Little League days when she rocked girls’ hockey just like Lisa Simpson.
“When do you guys ever wipe these tables?” someone called from the lunch-hour mob.
“Ya,” someone else agreed.
Hurrying to the offending spot, Ada wiped it dutifully, not even bothering to make eye contact with the disdainful tableful. She heard them whispering as she walked away.
Then she pushed her cart to another section. It had begun to feel appendage-like, however. So used she had become to the tools of the trade. Sponge. Mop. Bucket. Garbage bags. Everything.
Yet it was now the peak of lunch hour, the place was packed. Body to body. Downtown office workers. Mall rats. Mothers pushing strollers. Everything. Even trying to navigate her bulky cart through the aisles became a challenge. It reminded Ada somewhat of the food fights in the school cafeteria back in the day. Spilled drinks. Piles of muck. Shouts. Cursing. There existed that same primal feel. All was salmonella and low-grade despair.
Dodging the rocks being hurled at them, the bamboo poles that sliced through the sweltering air, Ada and the others dashed through the wet market. They all cradled the cats they had plucked from the jammed crates. The live ones being sold as food. Then as a din of guttural, foreign voices hit a crescendo, Ada and the other activists sprinted into the raw jungle. They put their heads down and ran as they never had before. Just like Naruto. Ada could hear the foliage snapping about them. They rushed to the van that awaited them in the clearing.
“Drive like a motherfucker!” Ada shrieked. They all piled into the van and sped off.
She was part of Catifa, a cat rescue mission overseas. She was a junior member of the group but had become distinguished for her street-fighting skills and endless wads of cash from a recent big lottery score. They lived daring; commando lives. And were under a death order by the local, corrupt Marxist regime. They wore camo and carried tasers. In their off hours, they played with the cats, drank tea, and prayed and meditated.
“Excuse me miss; do you have a moment?” the old geezer with the silky voice said.
He was known as “Bad Grandpa” for his pervy antics. It seemed that the “Me Too” movement had missed him somehow.
Ada frowned. She had made the mistake of humoring what she thought was just a lonely old man when suddenly he morphed into a silver fox extraordinaire. Won’t make that mistake again.
“Could you help me fix my tie?” he said. Yet she saw only a perfect Windsor knot before her.
“Security!” she called.
Heads turned. “Bad Grandpa” sank in his seat.
She chuckled inwardly.
Then noticing a towering stack of trays on the counter near the garbage receptacle, Ada headed to it.
She began the task of wiping down each tray, then stacking them on her cart. Eventually, the trays would be taken back to the food stalls from whence they came. It was a job so mechanical that it almost seemed like she was on autopilot while doing it. As she was doing this, she saw a drunk escorted out by the mall manager.
Bending over to pour coffee into an ornate, gold rimmed, china cup, Ada smiled. She was serving one of her treasured regulars.
“Thank you, M’dear.” the wizened old cat lady said. She was dressed colorfully with bangles and scarves and had a light coating of cat hair on her duds. She looked like a dried out old mermaid that had made a special trip on land just for the occasion.
“You’re welcome, Edna,” Ada said.
Ada was the proprietress of an upscale, trendy cat café known simply as TUX. She had created it with her lottery windfall. Yet, it was considered a swanky, hot spot, nevertheless. A local food critic had rated it with five stars. Lately, it had become the proverbial talk of the town.
Ada wore a LBD that was dangerously close to slipping off one shoulder. Her hair was in an up do and she felt stunningly alive. Amidst the pillars and columns, she looked like a goddess rubbing shoulders with mere mortals.
A big, ginger cat skittered across the tiled floor. Tuxedo cats had clumped on a marble bench with a gold plush seat to sleep.
Life was good.
Feeling a tap on the shoulder, Ada woke from her reverie.
“What are you trying to do, girl? Put in for overtime?” Mavis was teasing. She had her coat on and carried an oversized pumpkin colored bag.
Ada blinked.
“It’s quitting time.” Mavis said. Then she did a mock pulling of the alarm as in The Flintstones opener.
Ada grinned. She rushed and put away her cart and grabbed her purse.
Walking towards the front main doors, the two women were headed to the bus stop.
Then Mavis spied the lottery kiosk. The pot was at a mind-bending, seventy million, the highest it reaches.
“Hey, I’m gonna get a ticket,” Mavis announced.
“Me too,” Ada said.
Copyright © 2022 by Shauna Checkley
