Here’s my story …
 

In Caledonia, our high school athletic teams are known as the Fighting Scots and our mascot is the Fighting Scotsman, a guy in a cape and kilt who carries a spear.

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Before 1970, however, the teams were called the Scotties and the mascot was a Scottish Terrier.

You know what that says to me?

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This town should have always had an animal mascot, but dogs—as usual—weren’t up to the task. In other words, it was time for Caledonia to change their mascot once again. They needed a cat. Caledonia needed me.

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But how could I prove that I was worthy of being a legendary mascot that would cause the teams to fight harder (than a Scotsman)?

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I’d thought this through very carefully and had come up with a plan: I would dress up in a cape and kilt, put a spear in my mouth and run onto the field during a football game. My arrival would inspire the team to super strength and they would win the game. As for me, the hero, I’d be carried off the field and by the following week, we’d be the Caledonia Fighting Cats with my picture on their helmets!

Actually, in hindsight, maybe I didn’t think it through all that carefully.

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Anywho, midway through a boring second quarter, I ran onto the field across along the 50-yard line, my cape fluttering majestically in the night air. The referees blew the whistle. The crowd gasps as everyone watched in astonishment. Dave Harris, the Caledonia QB, decided he would be the hero and catch me. He raced after me with arms outstretched intent on “tackling” me. I easily outmaneuvered him, faking one way, sharp turn. In a last ditch effort of frustration he leaped for me but instead he caught his right hand on the tiny spear in my mouth.

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We both stopped and watched the blood ooze from his hand. Their season, his scholarship to Michigan State was over.

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Have you ever had an entire town chase you out of a sports stadium and into a nearby corn field? Our town is small, with a population of fewer than 2000, but it was nevertheless quite the adrenaline-inducing experience.

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After I was eventually caught, I was taken back to the stadium and hung from the crossbar by my cape for the night, which—given that our local police force is underfunded and therefore doesn’t have a dedicated Feline Crime Unit—seemed like a reasonable act of vigilante justice.

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I mean, I do think it was reasonable, but I’m still angry about it. You know that feeling? When you know you’ve behaved badly but are still somehow full of righteous anger?

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Look at my photo. That’s what that face is.

Story by ShadyPets.com (c) 2021. All Rights Reserved.