On
a couple of Wednesdays later, Matilda and I had walked a good twelve
hours before we stopped for the night just east of Santa Rosa, in the
barren desert of New Mexico. She caught a couple of rats and I roasted
them over some burning tumbleweed. We were delightfully filled for the
evening, but bored with my cooking. After successfully panhandling
along the way the next day, we aquired a decently adequate amount of
change to purchase a few pre-packaged peanut butter sandwiches along
the way, for the rest of the journey.
We
had just made it to the California border nearly a month later, when
Matilda suggested, "You know, this is dumb. We ought to hitch a ride."
We had just about made
it to the San Joaquin Valley when, coming over a hill, we noticed an
armored road block. When we got no more than about 15 feet away, they
raised their guns while a short but stocky BATF officer blared on an
amplified megaphone, “Clyde P. Hipwing?!”
“Yes....And I can hear just fine without that thing!”
“Oh,
uh sorry, drop the knapsack, sir...and walk away slowly,” he demanded,
aiming his gun nervously. “You and the cat hit the ground, NOW!”
Laying
flat on my face, I observed a small bomb squad of three men, in fully
protective clothing, gently putting my knapsack in some sort of sealed
heavy metal capsule. “Its just our lunch!” I laughed.
"We
know what it is...I’m afraid we’re gonna have to take you both in for
questioning concerning the Sam's Deli robbery, back in Mountain Oyster,
Oklahoma."
We
were rushed frantically to the Prune Pit County sheriff’s office in a
convoy of five squad cars, followed by three FBI vans and two armored
trucks, filled with SWAT teams escorting us on either side.
The
sheriff was a big beer-bellied type displaced Texan, and was all
haughty for having brought us in. "You wanna tell me bout this here
robbery in Oklahoma, boy?"
"I'd like to, but I know nothing about it," I answered.
"Well
you’re writing this story, aren’t you? Come on...You did it. You stole
all that stuff, didn't you?" he insisted with his face into mine.
"That's baloney!"
"And you stole that baloney, didn't you, boy?"
"I
don't even know what you’re talking about. I was being swallowed by a
telephone booth about the time of the robbery... If you don't believe
me, just ask my cat. She's the one who saved me!" I stood up
.
Sheriff
Bonehead really liked that one. I should have just kept my mouth shut.
“Ok, Mr Hipwing...Clyde, why is it you can clearly remember what you
were doing at the time of this here robbery over a month ago, but you
can’t tell me where this half-eaten baloney sandwich, that was found
this morning in your knapsack, came from?”
“I don’t know! I don’t even like baloney. If I remember correctly it was a peanut butter sandwich, but, I’m not really sure.”
“Well, boy, sounds to me like your long term memory is purdy doggone good, but as for the short term........”
“Alright,” I smarted, “Ask me about that baloney sandwich again...and I’ll give you an answer in about three years, Ok?!”
I
was charged with eight counts on possession of stolen property, four
counts on “the intent to distribute” (I guess they meant sharing four
sandwiches with my cat), and one count on “not properly packing your
lunch like your mother surely taught you!”
I
was to stay in jail for two long months without a word from Matilda.
Poor cat, they probably put her to sleep, I thought. I was so
depressed, I didn't bother to prepare for the trial, which was to be
held in California because of all the public rage back home in Mountain
Oyster. To top it off, I was assigned a court appointed attorney who
rarely came around.
Some time later, the hearing was well into its third hour as the DA was twisting testimony out of his concluding witness.
“Now,
you’re employed by the only meat packing plant in downtown Helenback,
Arkansas. This has already been established for the record. But could
you tell those of us who have never been to Helenback, Mr. Kimble, what
exactly is the name of that business, trademark or establishment, as
registered with the Internal Revenue Service?”
“'The Only Meat Packing Plant In Downtown Helenback, Arkansas', Sir.”
“And just what is your job title?” The cocky Prosecutor drilled.
“I’m the Head Meat Inspector!” Mr. Kimble boasted.
“Very
well, Mr. Kimble,” the DA praised his witness, then confidently
approached the bench. “Your Honor, I’d like at this time to introduce
Exhibit H to the jury as a momentous segment of consequential evidence in this egregious criminal action.”
“For
heaven’s sake, Benson,” the Judge harped, “It’s just a stupid piece of
baloney! This is the eighth exhibit you’ve introduced today...When are
you going to wrap-up all of this baloney, it’s getting mighty
stale!....Hey, that was pretty witty, wasn’t it!?”
“Joking aside, Your Honor.....This isn’t just a piece of baloney; but a 'half eaten' piece of baloney!
”
“All
right, let the record show Exhibit H....another piece of baloney has
been submitted into evidence,” Judge Thomas grumbled, looking at his
watch and thinking about lunch.
“Now,
Mr. Kimble, explain to the jury what this is....” Benson commanded,
dramatically holding the exibit against the witness’ nose.
“Uhhh
Yer kiddin’, right?” He snickered, insulted. “Why, it looks like a
piece of baloney to me, but of course I could be wrong...I ain’t an
expert; I’ve just managed to keep my job through the years cause I’m
with the union!”
The
courtroom broke out in silly laughter, while I noticed my Public
Defender looking as if his hopes had been lifted. However, humiliated
by his immediate fiasco, and sensing a mockery was at hand, the
Prosecuting Attorney bitterly chewed out the jury: “Ladies
and Gentlemen, this significant piece of evidence was found on the
defendant’s person at the time of his arrest by a BATF (Baloney
Alchohol Tobacco and Firearms) officer! When this case retires for
deliberation, you’d better really strive to consider how seriously
damning this is to Mr. Hipwing’s alibi. Not only do the bite marks
match his dental records, but I’ve spoken with every lunch meat
connoisseur in this state, and all of them concur that....”
“Benson,
this is not the time for your closing remarks! This is the fifth time
this morning you’ve tried to manipulate the jury. I won’t have anymore
of it in my courtroom; and if I should, you won’t be released from
holding, until you miraculously pull out of your nose $25,000!...Now,
direct only questions, exclusively to your Witness! Do you understand
Me?!!!!!” His Honor shouted, as Benson immediately humbly bowed himself
apologetically before the Throne...
“Yes Sir, it won’t happen again, sir!!!!”
“Good.......You may proceed!” The Judge approved, bestowing his mercy.
“Thanks...I’m
sorry, Sir, Your Honor...Yes, Thanks Again, Sir!... Now..... Uh, MR.
Kimble, just how old would you say this particular, half-eaten scrap of
baloney is, just by inspecting it?”
“Hmmm, I wouldn’t throw a Barmitzvah any time soon!”
“Mr. Kimble,” Judge Thomas spoke softly, but firm, “I’m very serious...Would you like me to hold you in contempt?”
“What?
NO, I wouldn’t like you to hold me at all!...no matter how serious you
are!...Just what exactly are you hinting at with that question?”
“Your
Honor, I have no further questions.” Benson sighed and rolled his eyes,
throwing his notes so as to scatter them all over the table, and sat
down.
“Very well, if there is no further questions from the defense, You may step down, Mr. Kimble.”
“No further questions, Your Honor,” my lawyer declared.
Before
stepping down from the witness stand, Mr. Kimble made known his regret
for his behavior: “I’m sorry, Your Honor, if I hurt your feelings when
I was shocked by your offer. I’m just not into that sort of thing, but
if I were in your shoes...uh well, I don’t mean to say I wanna be
gettin' into your shoes or nothin’, uh..but of course, I don’t have
nothin’ against nobody that does!...but uh.....” he finally gave up
trying to explain and offered a hand of tolerance, praying His
Judgeship wouldn’t kiss it.
“You
Will Step Down, Mr. Kimble!!” Judge Thomas, whose face would have
caused confusion on a busy interstate, being that it was as red and
illuminating as a traffic light, couldn’t believe all that was
happening in his courtroom.
“At
this time, Your Honor, I’d like to call a surprise witness to the
stand, a certain Miss Matilda Waudlebaum,” my court-appointed counselor
announced.
“Very
well, let the record show that........A CAT IS GOING TO TESTIFY?!”
Justice Administrator Thomas gasped.
I started crying tears of joy as
my beloved feline approached the bench. I was equally comforted by the
judge’s facial adoration for such furry cuteness. “Well, I guess I can
confirm this morning that I haven’t seen everything in these 30 years!
You may proceed, Council.”
"Thank you, Your Honor. Miss Waudlebaum. You're a cat. Would you say this is true?" my attorney asked.
"I
would," she proudly affirmed, though slightly bewildered because the
Judge, probably from being over-stressed, forgot to make her swear to
tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help
her, Saint CATherine! ...Matilda was a devout CATholic--Never missed one
day of CATechism! She always wanted to be a Nun, but she got kicked out
of Parochial School for chasing a "Cardinal" up a tree... I know, enough already! Okay, back to the trial...
"And as a cat, you were pretty close to the defendant, were you not?"
"I object!" the DA shouted. "Council is putting words in the witness' mouth."
"Overruled!....Come
on, let’s hurry this thing through!.....You may answer the question,
ma'am," the Judge’s stomach spoke up on his behalf, more eager than
ever to go to lunch.
"Yes, I know the defendant well... I know the way he thinks... How else could it be that he has yet to beat me in Ping-Pong?"
"I object!.... This is irrelevant to the case... I want to go to the meat of the matter! What about Exhibit H?" the DA huffed.
"Overruled!..
You'll get to cross examine... Now go ahead, precious little kitty
you... I mean, please continue, ma'am," said the Judge.
"Thank
you, Your Honor," she purred. "There's not a dishonest bone in his
body. He's always been good to me. Never once as a kitten did he rub my
nose in it when I messed on the carpet... he..."
"I object!. Your Honor, you're falling in love with that cat!"
"Shut
up, Benson, or you’ll be removed from this courtroom, even if I have to
forcibly take you by the hand and lead you outta here myself!!!!!"
"Well ain’t that just the cat’s pajamas! I’m sure Mr. Kimble would really be fond of that!" the D.A. stomped. "Never in my..."
"Bailiff,
take Benson out of here... This case is now dismissed! Now where were
you, precious little fuzz ball, hmmmm?" The Judge, like a charmed
adolescent school boy, melted as he gave ear in a mesmerized daze for
at least 30 more minutes, before shyly begging Matilda to give him the
liberty to take her out for lunch. Once again my beloved cat had saved me...