Porcupied with the Porcupine

The porcupine was crossing the street in a school zone, jaywalking, and carrying a small bouquet of flowers like he had somewhere romantic to be. A woman failed to brake in time and rolled right over his little foot. Not his whole body…just the foot.

I saw the whole thing and ran over to help. The porcupine was on the ground, furious, with one tiny foot still pinned beneath the tire.

Instead of backing up, the woman got out of the car and immediately started yelling at him.

“Could you at least move the car so he can pull his foot out?” I asked.

“No,” she snapped. “I want the cops to see exactly where he was. I’m making a citizen’s arrest.”

“A citizen’s arrest for what?”

“For jaywalking. And emotional damage to my morning.”

I looked at her. “You clearly saw him. This is a school zone. You were supposed to slow down.”

“I did see him, but I’m only required to stop for children and school staff,” she said. “Not for some romantic animal carrying flowers.”

At that, the porcupine pulled out one of his quills, reached up with shocking precision, and punctured her tire.

“There,” he said. “Now you have something to be porcupied with.”

Then I used the eyebrow tweezers from my purse to help pull his little foot out from under the tire.

As we waited for the police, the porcupine glanced at Mrs. Karen’s deflated tire.

“I happen to know a mobile tire-repair service that can come out and fix that right here,” he said. “And because of the circumstances, I can offer you a special price.”

Mrs. Karen narrowed her eyes. “You punctured it.”

“That is why you qualify for this limited-time offer.”

“I’m not paying you to repair the tire you damaged.”

“You wouldn’t be paying me,” he explained. “You would be paying the company. I would only receive a small commission.”

She stared at him.

“But you must act now,” he added. “This offer will not last.”

“We’re waiting for the police!”

“You work at a tire shop?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“On commission?”

The porcupine looked at the ground.

Mrs. Karen screamed, “I KNEW IT! HE’S GENERATING LEADS!”

The officer finally arrived, took one look at Mrs. Karen’s flat tire, and pointed at the porcupine.

“Hands behind your back.”

“I can’t.”

“Are you resisting?”

“No. My arms are too short.”

“Fine. Hands forward.”

The porcupine held out his tiny hands. The officer fastened a pair of regular human handcuffs around them, but they slipped straight off and fell onto the pavement.

The officer stared at the cuffs.

“So now you’re evading restraints.”

“Aren’t you at least going to hear my witness statement?” I asked.

“Actually,” the officer said, turning toward the porcupine, “let me have your anti-social security number.”

“How do you even know he has one of those?”

“I can tell,” the officer said, pointing at the tiny teardrop tattoo beneath the porcupine’s left eye.

The porcupine sighed. “One, two, three, four, five…”

He paused, momentarily forgetting the last digit.

“…six.”

The officer typed it into his system.

“Bingo! You have a rap sheet longer than Santa Claus’s naughty list.”

He turned to me. “You see? Just because he looks cuddly in the front”

The officer grabbed a handful of the porcupine’s soft little belly.

“doesn’t mean he’s a good guy.”

“Could you stop manually demonstrating your point?” I asked.

“He’s bad,” the officer continued. “Listen to this. Recently arrested for getting high on catnip and eucalyptus while associating with a black cat and a koala.”

“I was standing near them,” the porcupine said.

The officer kept reading. “Under the influence and in the company of known users.”

Then he looked at me.

“Ma’am, you seem awfully porcupied with this porcupine.”

“I’m trying to explain what happened.”

“We can switch you out,” he said. “Like a prisoner exchange. Legally.”

“How would that be legal?”

“The law requires a suspect. It doesn’t specify which one.”

“That cannot possibly be true.”

“Ma’am, please don’t make this more complicated. I already opened the ticket, and I can still alter it without leaving a trace.”

He turned back toward the porcupine.

“Have you ever considered changing your life?”

“I have a job.”

“At the tire shop. On commission.”

The porcupine looked away.

“You could become an acupuncturist,” the officer continued. “You already have the necessary tools.”

“Or a professional head scratcher,” Mrs. Karen added.

“Back scratcher,” the officer corrected. “There’s more surface area.”

“I am not changing careers because one woman failed to brake,” the porcupine said.

The officer pulled out his phone and handed it to me. Then he held the citation over one of the porcupine’s quills.

“Wait,” he said. “Take one now. I want a picture of the exact moment of service.”

“This feels unethical,” I said.

“Just move a little to the left so the sun doesn’t cast such a harsh shadow.” He turned toward the porcupine. “Now, Mr. Porcupine, open your mouth just a tiny bit and furrow your brow. Try to look remorseful, but dangerous.”

“Hold that pose.”

Click. Click.