Phat Cat

We had been developing a methodology for structuring performance specifications so that they could easily be translated into useable code sequences and also could be updated and comprehended easily.

In order to accomplish this task, we needed data entry personnel who were willing to translate text into a language which was amenable to being stored in a relational database. The database was the bridge to computer program development and update.

We hired the Cat to do some data entry work for us. She was a striking woman with shoulder length hair and a sexy albeit sturdy build. She had an arts degree from JMU, but she lacked any scientific acumen. That was a good thing since she perceived her work to be challenging and worthy of pursuit.

Although the Cat never rose above her entry level status, she did leave an indelible impression on me. Although she was all female, she perceived herself to be a man’s man. She told me of her many exploits which were normally masculine endeavors.

One of the best stories she told was of a deer hunting incident with her husband and some of his buddies. Supposedly, one of the men had shot a deer which ran into a swampy area from which it couldn’t extricate itself. The men didn’t want to venture into the swamp to retrieve the deer, so their solution was to kill the wounded deer with a shot to the head and then leave it to the scavengers to devour. The Cat had a different idea. She slogged into the swamp herself, cut the deer’s throat with her hunting knife, dragged the body onto dry land, and then gutted it.

Now, that’s a hell of a woman. Not one with which I would want to associate, though.

We went on work related travel occasionally and I was always amazed at her activities. For one thing, she always ate steak for breakfast. She said she needed her red meat to get the day started. I remember one time we passed by a French restaurant and I suggested that we go in and try the advertised crepes. She laughed boisterously and reprimanded me for even thinking about stepping into an establishment which had the temerity to serve anything but steak and potatoes.

Even with her idiosyncrasies, the Cat was fun to be around. She was a hard and dedicated worker. However, one day she crossed the line with me. During one of our meetings to discuss her progress on the database development, she gave me a disparaging look and laughed. I asked her what was funny and she said that I was a typical male office worker. She said that men should be out hunting and fishing, not working in an office. She opined that I was doing women’s work.

I was taken aback by her statement, since it was so ludicrous and absurd, but I kept my cool. I asked her if she thought that Albert Einstein had been doing women’s work. She said that if he didn’t hunt and fish, he was a woman in men’s clothing.

In fact, she said that she could probably outrun me in the forty yard dash. Now, that was the last straw. I might not be able to gut a deer but I could sure as hell outrun a thirty year old female who had more girth than Queen Latitha.

So, the challenge was on. We agreed to a hundred yard race through the parking lots supporting the temporary office trailers to the west of Building 1500. Anything goes after the start. We scheduled the match for the next evening after work, around 5:30 p.m.
We told no one about the race but I was sure that there would be a gaggle of onlookers when the race commenced.

We had a coworker call the start and off we went. I took an early lead and started to get overconfident. In fact, I got out ahead so easily that I decided to run backwards for awhile just to chastise her. I smoothly did a one eighty and then started to get up to speed going backwards. Unfortunately, I neglected to account for the fact that I couldn’t see any vehicles which could dart out from their parking places. After only about fifteen yards of running backwards, I slammed into the left door panel of a 1980 Ford Mustang owned by my current branch head.

I was laid out on the asphalt as the Cat finally caught up to me. She stopped and leaned up against the Mustang and let out a gleeful snicker. “Look at you,” she muttered. “You’re about as helpless as that deer floundering in the swamp.” She then proceeded to skip across the finish line and declare victory over all males.

I slowly got up, walked to the finish line and fired her on the spot. We got a new data entry person the next day.

The Cat made one fatal error. She might have thought she had seen a deer in her headlights, but it turned out to be the beady eyes of a person who occupied a position higher in the office food chain.