The pride was on its way back from stuffing Cub and Kitten insensible on cheap buffet pizza, cruising down the back roads in Mrs. Cat’s homeschool bus. I don’t usually drive the battle wagon because it’s a pain in the tail to adjust the seats and mirrors Since I didn’t have to steer, and as the tactical situation required no evasive maneuvers or manning of the cannon, I got to look at the scenery as we drove around. I noticed a box truck parked in front of a house about a mile from our local hospital. The truck had obviously seen a lot of use, as evidenced by the sun-cracked upholstery and the rust-streaked side panels. A heavy lock was hanging from the roll door at the back, much newer and shinier than anything else on the truck. On the door of the cab, a magnetic sign was placed almost as an afterthought. It read:
National Kidney Foundation
And in much smaller letters:
Pick-Up Service
I don’t even want to know what jingle that thing plays as it cruises through the neighborhoods.
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