What is a good man but a bad man's teacher?
What is a bad man but a good man's job? Lao Tzu
I am a dog person.
I dig loyalty, long walks, and loving scratches. Yesterday, I walked into the Starbucks, Lihue, my satellite tutoring office to meet my student, with a large stack of handouts, angling towards a table when I hear it:
Meow.
Meow.
Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow.
I see the little white paws underneath a large white truck.
Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow.
No, I think. Not today. “Can you believe it?” I look at my student.
She shrugs rather unaffectedly.
I see several onlookers, and one sweet girl pulling her boyfriend behind her towards the truck. Good. They will take care of it.
Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow.
“I mean doesn’t that sound break your heart?” I ask my student.
“Mmfp,” she says as a teenager can and opens her SAT book.
Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow.
We begin analyzing simple algebra - Meow. Meow. – and look over the questions that she is unable to answer. Until I hear a gasp, behind me. I whip my head around:
Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow is walking in the middle of traffic, with four cars stopped and heading toward the parking lot.
“I’m sorry, I have to try,” I say to my student, walking away from our table and towards the kitty. I take my breath into my heart, so as not to stun or charge the poor thing further away. He stops and turns at me. In one swoop, I have him by his scruff as any mother would, and I walk us both back to the table.
