When my mom found out, she hit the roof. She wagged a finger at me all mom-like and said "If you feed a stray, then they'll never leave! We already have a cat and we don't need another one!"
I cried and screamed and I'm pretty sure I called her a Nazi or a fascist or something like that. She was right, though. That cat and about a dozen others started hanging out around our house, yowling and being totally annoying. Eventually, we had to call Animal Control and have them taken away.
The moral of this story: Don't feed a stray cat because it will NEVER leave.
What's the point of this? Well...I was thinking back to my mom's sage advice as I was hit on once again by the semi-retarded guy from West Virginia. I was nice to him yesterday, God help me. Now he has learned my name and hangs around the circulation desk, trying to start conversations with me.
My goddamned boss (normally not goddamned)likes to talk and so she kept encouraging him and revealing details about me. "Oh, well, you know, she only lives a block away." or "Well, she's getting her master's degree in library science." Things that normally I wouldn't care about, but, somehow, now that he knows these things, I expect to find him hanging out outside my window, wanting to chat about libraries.
I was talking to my best friend about it and she asked me why I thought he was semi-retarded. Well, other than the fact that I had to read the library card application out loud to him, besides the fact that he was not able to read the clock? What tipped me off was his tiny little head. It was like a Q-tip sticking out of a toilet roll, a toothpick jammed into a sausage, to wit: a tiny little head. The effect was completed by a large pair of coke-bottle glasses and a NASCAR hat.
Okay, I admit it. What really tipped me off was the NASCAR hat.
