WALLA WALLA, Wash. -- A few years ago, my brother-in-law, Mike, was working off an item from his wife’s "honey do list," a landscaping project in his side yard alongside the driveway. As he dug with his shovel, he heard a crunch. The sound was not what he might have expected if hitting a piece of wood, plastic, or a rock.

Carefully digging around the item, he discovered what appeared to be animal remains. Upon closer inspection, he could tell it was a cat. It must have been in a fight, or more likely, it had been eaten, as there were only two furry paws and a collar.

Upon closer inspection, he noticed that the collar still had a small metal ID tag attached to it. Brushing the dirt and cat hair off of the ID tag, two names and a phone number became visible: "Lucky, Bernie Yang, 509-555-4812."

Assuming that Mr. Yang had never known what happened to his poor cat, would he be relieved to find out about Lucky, at least getting some closure after continually worrying and wondering what had happened to the feline?

Or perhaps Bernie had held out hope that Lucky merely ran off and was now the spoiled pet that someone else had found and grown to adore. If that were the case, then how might Bernie react, not just in finding out that Lucky was dead, but to discover that Lucky was very unlucky indeed, possibly ending up as a dinner buffet for a wild pack of neighborhood dogs?

Mike took a chance that Bernie would appreciate having some closure on the whereabouts of Lucky. He called the number on the ID tag.

“Harro, dis Bernie Yang?” came a heavy Asian accent.

Oh crap, he may not understand what I’m about to tell him, thought Mike. This should have been red flag number one: a language barrier. For an instant, Mike thought that he should just quickly hang up. He probably should have.

Instead, risking further humiliation, Mike continued, “Hello, my name is Mike Harding. I live over on Chestnut Street, 347 Chestnut. I found your cat in my yard, but…”

Before Mike could finish his sentence, Bernie shouted with enthusiasm, “Lucky live! I knew he will. Brown collar, yes?”

“Yes, the collar is brown. But Mr. Yang, I…,” Mike started.

“I be over,” Bernie quickly said. “Wife be so happy. Thank you much. Yes, thank you much.” Click.

Gulp. “Great. Now what the hell am I going to say to him when he gets here?” Mike said out loud. He sheepishly found a brown paper bag to put the paws and collar in, set the bag by the driveway, and continued with his digging in the side yard.

A half an hour later, Mike went into the house to ask his wife whether Mr. Yang had called. When Mike’s wife heard the story about digging up the bones and collar, she at first was quiet. But when Mike told about his conversation with Mr. Yang, she burst out laughing.

“You mean to tell me that Mr. Yang thinks his cat, Lucky, is alive, and he thinks he’s coming over to pick him up?” she said, now giggling even louder. “What the heck are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know,” Mike mumbled as he sighed and returned outside.

Mr. Yang never showed up. Even after Mike and his wife had finished their dinner, Mr. Yang still had not come to the house. Mike finally went and got the paper bag with the cat remains and collar and put it in the garbage can at the side of the house.

The next day, Wednesday, came and went. Mike gave up hope that Mr. Yang would ever show up, and thanked heaven that he hadn’t. After Mike got home from work on Thursday, he moved his garbage can out to the curb, as it was garbage pickup day the next day.

Later on Thursday evening, a hopeful visitor drove his large, brown sedan towards 347 Chestnut Street. Looking over at his cat carrier sitting on the passenger’s seat, Mr. Yang had a look of pleasant expectation at the car rumbled to a stop in front of Mike’s house.

Mike spotted the brown sedan from his living room window, having just sat down to relax with his wife in front of the idiot screen to watch their favorite reality TV show. But they were distracted by a man getting out of his car and then walking around to the passenger side to get something. They watched a greying, slender man head up their sidewalk holding a pet carrier.

Mike muttered, “Oh damn, he’s here for the cat! I didn’t think he would show.”

Mike’s wife let out a nervous laugh. “Good luck, honey.”

Walking quickly to the front door, Mike went outside and down the steps, meeting Mr. Yang in the front yard. They shook hands. Mike’s wife could see Mike talking, explaining, and motioning with his hands. Mr. Yang’s friendly expression slowly turned sad. He dropped his head.

Then she saw Mr. Yang ask something. Mike hesitated.

“Oh, no. You didn’t, Mike,” Mike’s wife said, with a horror stricken look on her face as she watched Mike walk towards the curb. He promptly fished a brown paper bag, still looking neat and tidy, out of the garbage can and handed it to Mr. Yang.

She couldn’t see the look on Mr. Yang’s face, but his body language said it all. His pet carrier dropped to the ground. Taking the bag and opening it, he peered inside and then immediately closed it.

He asked Mike something and Mike nodded his head. Mr. Yang opened the bag again and reached inside, pulling the collar out. He took some glasses out of his shirt pocket, put them on, and intently looked at the ID tag that dangled from the collar. Bernie Yang then made a quick bow towards Mike, turned around, picked up his pet carrier and walked to his car. After putting the pet carrier and paper bag into the passenger side, Bernie turned once more towards Mike and said something, with a smile. Then, he was in his car and rolling down the street in a cloud of dust.

After watching him drive away, Mike slowly walked towards the house, a dumbfounded look on his face which grew into a grin. Mike was laughing as he came back inside the house. In fact Mike was now hysterically laughing as he walked up the steps into the living room.

Staring out the window together, Mike’s wife asked, “So, what did Mr. Yang say to you? What is so funny?”

Mike struggled to get his composure. “Mr. Yang said that the only thing...” Mike paused, trying to keep a snicker under control, but he just couldn’t. Mike let a long, belly laugh take its course. After quieting back down enough to talk, he continued, “He said that the only thing that would have made losing Lucky even more palatable, and he used that word," Mike laughed, “would have been if, ‘Taco wagon was parked in front of house.’ ”

From No Good Deed Goes Unpunished, by Taylor Young.