True confessions time: for the past four months, the Plymouth has served as a cat bed. Patsy hopped into an open window one day and, in the comfort-seeking manner of domesticated felines everywhere, took over.
She had a routine. Early morning nap curled up in a puff of down jacket left on the front seat. Mid-morning toilette perched on the bench seat's broad back. In the afternoon, she'd migrate to the little shelf under the rear window, stretch out to her full length and toast herself senseless in the sun. When that got too hot, she'd retire to the cool and shaded floor mats.
Only the tinny pop of the early evening can of cat food could lure her. Even then she'd return to perch on the Plymouth's sun-heated hood until every last atom of warmth had dispersed. This went on for so long that the battery died and spiders took residence and the cat hair, lord the cat hair, everywhere. And thick.
So one morning, while the Plymouth was empty, I cleaned it out and called AAA and it went to Malibu Auto where Kelly gave it a new battery and checked the fluid levels and added air to the tires and now I'm driving the Plymouth again and people I don't know are waving to me again and Patsy, well, Patsy has now taken up residence in the little red pickup. Knock before entering.