While-u-wait

A white cat sat by a car exhaust of a car parked in a residential street, its legs neatly positioned like columns in front of its furry black and white coat. The cat briefly looked up at me before resuming its pensive gaze at an empty parking space and a 'wee-only' bed pan that lay in the gutter. It was shaped like the tail pipe and silencer of the car exhaust and looked like it had fallen off the vehicle which had vacated the parking space. I don't know how it got there, it's a good ten minute walk to the nearest hospital. There was something about the cat's demeanour that seemed to imply something wasn't quite right. I couldn't help think some poor old soul laid up in the bed of one of the wards was having to wee into a car exhaust via a long rusty tail pipe.

It's not his fault. He just doesn't travel easily.

I carried on walking, and in the local garage by the train station, a man crudely lit by the overhead strip lights was bending something in a vice. The two regular mechanics weren't in sight. At that time of the morning they'd usually be stood in the garage entrance drinking cups of coffee, overlooked by the 'MOT while-u-wait' sign, advertising exhausts, tests, tyres, and a multitude of other services and car and van parts. And shocks. Every weekday morning I'm drawn to the big sloping lettering 'SHOCKS' and imagine a mechanic hiding behind an oil drum and leaping out into the street and shouting "Booo!" or taking the position of a bowler who has just bowled out a batsmen with a "Howzat!" or a gravely, "ROOOAAARRR!" hands held up like two tiger paws ready to pounce and claw a commuter's attire to shreds.