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The real reason for the decal: I’m not naturally a “walk up and chat” type. But stick a clinging cat on your bumper and suddenly everyone—from retirees in Winnebagos to teenagers in gas stations—wants to talk.

He was a 40-something with a shiny silver BMW convertible and teeth that looked like they’d been Photoshopped. He pulled up next to me, locked eyes, and delivered his question like a missile: “Why are you doing this?”

I hadn’t even left San Jose yet, and I’d already managed to destroy the sink. That’s right—my grand two-year road trip began with a bang, or at least with a suspicious chemical fizz. Here’s the thing: The sink looked sturdy enough. Gray. Shiny. Innocent. But,

I’m not the type to leap headfirst into claims about interdimensional portals or cosmic vibrations. At least, I wasn’t back then. These days, my beliefs hover much closer to just north of woo-woo.