Topic: The Kitty and the Crack Head

Br, Jill Jackson

I never thought that I would get mixed up with a crack head, but there’s a first time for everything.

It was the late 1990s and I was living in a basement apartment up on highland. I’d had this upstairs neighbor, that I’d made friends with, who had since moved out.

She was your standard-issue young urban professional: well-dressed, well-spoken, and she really seemed to have her shit together.

So when she told me that she had this friend who was selling some furniture and moving out of town, I didn’t think anything of it.

I was in the market for a waterbed and this woman had one for a good price. I got her contact information and made arrangements to go by and look at the bed.

She lived in a cute little attic apartment with an adorable Snowshoe cat named Bandit. The entire time I was there, Bandit was all over me and never left my side. While we were hashing out the details of the bed purchase, she let slip that she was also selling the cat.

Now, at that time I had three cats and wasn’t in the market for another. Also, all of my cats had been free, so the idea of shelling out $100 seemed excessive. Especially since she had adopted him as a stray.

But there was something about this cat. Something about the way he latched onto me, and even something about her willingness to sell such an adorable animal, that spoke to me. So I decided that I would pay $200 for the bed and that she could throw Bandit in as part of the deal.

Since I am an animal lover, and know how much I would miss one of my cats, I gave her my phone number, and my address, and told her she could call me any time to check up on him.

She also asked me if I could give her a ride somewhere because her boyfriend had her car. Call me naïve, but I didn’t think anything of it. After all, she was a nice, seemingly stable, older lady with grown kids. Boyfriends borrow cars, and shit still needs to get done.

So I ended up driving her down to Northern Kentucky to the check cashing place. Throughout the drive she told me about her adult son and how excited she was to be moving out west and starting a new life.

The trip to and from Northern Kentucky was uneventful and, when we got back, I was able to take Bandit home with me.

A couple of days later, I was able to get a truck and move the water bed to my house. By then she had pretty much cleared out and was in the process of turning her keys in to her landlord.

The following evening I was at home when my phone rang. It was her. Apparently she was at her parents house somewhere out in east bumfuck. She was agitated and not very coherent, but the gist of what she was saying was that her parents weren’t letting her see her boyfriend, they wanted her to go into rehab, and could I please, please come get her.

She had already made arrangements for her downstairs neighbor to let her into her old building, and from there she would find a way to get into her old apartment.

Say what now?

I told her that I didn’t think that was wise, and that I was pretty sure it was breaking and entering since she had already turned in the keys.

She was insistent. She was going crazy at her parents house and couldn’t stay there one moment longer. She absolutely HAD to get out and I was her only hope.

I told her that I had to think about it and that she should call me back in 10 minutes.

When she called back, I didn’t answer.

Instead I called our mutual friend and told her what happened.

Her response: “Oh yeah, she and her boyfriend are crack heads.”

Say what, now?

I was so pissed off that this person I considered a friend would introduce me to someone like that. Or, at the very least, that she wouldn’t WARN me. I mean, if I was just buying a few items and going on my way, that would have been fine. 

I had just given an unstable crackhead my phone number and she was asking me to help her break the law. Not only that but, SHE KNEW WHERE I LIVED!

Not cool.

Luckily, the crack head never called me again. More importantly, she never showed up at my house. I assume that she went into rehab, or that she found someone else to help her break into her old apartment.

After that little encounter, I was glad that I had rescued Bandit from that environment.

I learned from this experience that appearances can be deceiving. This woman seemed to have it all together. She had a cute little apartment. A cute little cat. She came across as totally normal when I hung out with her.

If she hadn’t called me, possibly going through withdrawal, and asked me to do something illegal, I never would have known.

So, anyway, that’s how I got my cat Bandit.