The unhappy hooker and my shapeshifting cat, Meaty

I was on someone's laundry strewn bed in a dimly lit room with oily dark wood paneling and cheap louvered glass windows, like you might see on an older travel trailer. I was not alone. There was a young lady who looked all of about 23 on the bed with me. 

She began to engage me in some kind of lap dance, straddling me and flinging her long blond hair about wildly. Before I was able to fully enjoy the moment, though, out came her cardboard sign: "Anything helps. $1 donations accepted."

"Really? You're going to spam me, NOW?" I said, somewhat chagrined. I guess I figured she could have at least waited for the end of the dance before soliciting donations.

She ceased her gyrations and got up from the bed in tears and began to pout in the corner. I'd struck a nerve, and now I felt bad.

"I don't know why I'm so hung up about the idea of monetary compensation," I apologized. "I understand your dilemma, and I really don't object to your profession. I'm just cheap, I guess. Don't take it personally." My words didn't exactly comfort her, but she stopped crying.

"They make me do this," she said, referring to the cardboard sign. "I know it's not appealing. But we don't have health care, and my teeth are getting thin." She showed me a smile rowed with perfectly ordered, clean young teeth.

"I have the same problem," I said, trying to console her. I felt her lack of confidence was entirely unwarranted, at least regarding her appearances, and I told her so. She really was a flawlessly constructed Barbie doll who shouldn't have been suffering from any self-esteem issues, in my estimation.

She thanked me for being understanding and told me that I was the kind of client she'd enjoy performing for pro bono. But the moment had passed, and she put on her skimpy outfit and left.

I also left and went out driving around the neighborhood with my cat Meaty in the car. It was a somewhat rural area, with horse pastures and small ranchettes interspersed along the grass-lined, two lane highway. I stopped at an intersection and looked out the car window to the left and saw that my cat had managed to escape the vehicle and was sitting in a horse pasture.

"What are you doing out there?" I asked the cat. "You'll get yourself stepped on."

It was true. The horses weren't paying much attention to her, and she was in a pretty heavily trafficked area of the pasture, as indicated by the fine dust they kicked up as they trotted dangerously close to my kitty. 

I got out of my car to retrieve my cat, but she was having none of it. I called to her, but she ignored me. She did wander out of the horse pasture, though, and into the relative safety of someone's front yard. At that point, I noticed that this wasn't my cat Meaty, but a long-haired smoky calico. 

I wondered if I'd been mistaken about the identity of the cat who'd been in the car with me, and I began to assume that, for better or worse, this was now my cat. I sat down on some cement steps and started the long process of convincing the cat that I was alright, and that she should come with me back to the car. 

Between the lap dancer and the cat, I was kind of striking out as far as making the best impression. I woke up feeling that I really should try harder to be more sensitive to the needs of others, especially those who might be different from what I perceive them to be based on outward appearances.