Some passengers board a bus. Others adopt it. One of my regulars has convinced me they're not entirely human, but rather a highly evolved house cat in a jacket.
Some punters operate on an entirely different level.
Take one of my regulars. Lovely soul. Polite. Quiet. Never any bother.
But I'm increasingly convinced they're actually a domesticated cat.
Every morning they climb aboard, tap on with the same gentle routine and offer a soft, almost musical, "Thank you, driver."
Now, maybe it's the early starts. Maybe it's the heat. Maybe years of inhaling diesel fumes have finally loosened a few screws.
But I swear they're purring.
Not loudly, mind. Nothing obvious. Just the faintest suggestion of a contented little rumble as they shuffle past the cab.
"Mrrrp."
Classic cat behaviour.
They always sit downstairs. Always.
Yet they never sit in the same seat twice.
No, no. That would be far too straightforward.
First comes the inspection.
Like some feline property developer conducting a survey, they slowly wander along the lower deck assessing the available options. Seat by the window? Brief pause. Sniff of the atmosphere. Rejected.
Priority seat? A cursory glance. Deemed unacceptable.
Back seat? Promising, but ultimately not today's vibe.
Sometimes they'll begin to lower themselves onto one seat, only to abruptly think better of it and continue their search. Exactly like a cat that has spent twenty minutes demanding to be let outside, only to stand on the doorstep looking offended by the weather.
Then comes the circling.
Every cat owner knows the ritual.
One slow turn.
A second turn in the opposite direction.
An inexplicable half-turn.
A prolonged stare out of the window.
Another shuffle.
A final repositioning of coat, bag and shopping, equivalent to the traditional kneading of biscuits with the paws.
Only when every invisible criterion has been satisfied will they finally settle.
Curled perfectly into position.
Journey approved.
And heaven help the unsuspecting passenger who occupies their chosen seat on a subsequent trip.
The look of mild betrayal is unmistakable.
Not anger.
Not annoyance.
Just the silent expression of someone thinking, "Interesting. You've taken my spot. Bold."
The greatest evidence, however, comes near the end of the journey.
As their stop approaches, they stir from their seated slumber with precisely the same expression as a cat woken unexpectedly from a sunbeam nap: mildly disoriented, slightly affronted and somehow still dignified.
They thank me once more as they leave.
"Mrrrp."
I'm telling you.
One day they're going to leap gracefully through the open doors, disappear into a nearby garden and I'll finally have the proof I've been looking for.
___
Meta Description: A city bus driver suspects one regular passenger may secretly be a domesticated cat in disguise.
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