As someone who's had pets all my life
I've got tons of relevant stories.

Unfortunately, I'm having to post them all at once from my mates laptop, as I've recently lost my internet connection. A long story, which involves my landlord being an arse, and contacting Virgin about the free internet I was recieving. If you want to know the story, see this : www.b3ta.com/questions/conned/post94422 Virgin turned the line off, and are refusing to set it up again, and I can't get any other provider to use the line. And, seeing as I don't have any internet access at work (unlike most of you jammy bastards), I'm gonna have to post as and when.

Anyway, rant over - on with the post.

As I've mentioned before, I was a bit of a hellraiser when I was a teenager. Or, to put it another way, a cocky twat (not much has changed).

My Dad, who I've never got on with, used to have a Mercedes S-class that was his pride and joy. He loved that car - he'd wash it every weekend, polishing and buffing every surface, probably whispering sweet nothings as he did so. Woe betide me and my sister if we so much as touched it - he would check for fingerprints on the windshield and bonnet. He was a prize cock, and the car grew to symbolise everything I hated about him.

One fateful weekend, when I was 17, he had been called away to some business meeting overseas. He didn't like leaving 'his baby' in the airport car park in case something happened to it (I kid you not), so it was left in the garage. As luck would have it, my Mum and sister were staying at my Gran's, so I had the house to myself.

"Hmmm, let's see - place to myself, no adults around, car sitting in the garage. What to do, what to do..." I pondered, for about 5 or 6 seconds. Then I did what any sensible, responsible teenager would do - lifted the car keys from the hook, and sprinted to the garage.

I've mentioned my cat Aladdin in the previous post - we also had another cat, called Jasmine (my sister's talent with naming pets strikes again). She was brilliant - loving, playful, and full of mischief. She used to follow me around the house, almost like a puppy. Anyway, as I opened the garage and climbed into the car, Jas had followed me inside and jumped in with me. I decided to take her with me on my illicit joyride - I have no idea why. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

I backed the car carefully out the drive, and took it up the country roads behind our village. I was having a great time racing around, taking corners with wild abandon - I fancied myself as a young Michael Schumacher. After a while, Jas became restless, and began jumping around the car. She tried climbing onto my lap, and when I gently pushed her away she moved under my feet, and tried to squeeze under the pedals. I realised at this point that having a cat in the car was a bad idea, as I was becoming dangerously distracted, and she could end up getting hurt.

So I stopped the car, and put her out. We were about half a mile away from the house, and I reasoned that she probably knew her way around the back roads - she'd probably came up here hunting at night. I was confident she could find her way back okay, so I drove off, conscience clear.

After another half an hour of amateur rallying I decided I'd had enough fun for one night, and drove carefully back to the house, making sure to park the car exactly where I'd left it, and lock the doors. I hang the keys back on the hook, and call my mates to regale them with tales of my joyriding exploits.

My mother returned the next day. All was fine, until she went to call the cats in for dinner. Aladdin came racing in as normal, but there was no sign of Jasmine. This wasn't too unusual - sometimes she'd spend days out hunting, and then return as if nothing was wrong.

A few more days passed. Still no sign of Jasmine. My Mum began to get worried. "What if something's happened to her?" she asked. I kept quiet - I couldn't exactly admit to joyriding my Dad's car. But I was beginning to feel slightly guilty.

Another week passed. My Mum is getting more and more worried. She is convinced someone has stolen the cat, or worse. I'm still keeping quiet, but the guilt is gnawing away at me like a cancer.

After another week passes, the guilt has became unbearable. I lie awake at night, thinking of all the awful things that could have happened to Jasmine. Maybe she's lost. Maybe a fox got her. How could I have been so cruel? I feel like a complete bastard.

Just as I'm getting ready to confess everything, we hear a 'miaow' at the door. It's Jasmine - covered in mud and 2 pounds lighter. Three weeks after I'd turfed her out the car, she had managed to find her way back home. I can't imagine what she went through. I'm not religious at all, but I thanked God she was okay.

After that, I had learned my lesson. No more joyriding. Well, no more joyriding with pets in tow. As it happens I took the car out another three times before eventually being caught. But that's a story for another QOTW...
(Pavlov's Frog figures no-one really reads sigs anyway, Sat 8 Dec 2007, 0:22, 1 reply)

Ah, happy ending!
Good story. I had to skip the middle bit to see if she made it home, but I did go back and read it afterwards.
(clumsyeloquence is a girl, Sat 8 Dec 2007, 16:04, closed)