T.S.Dawson -Author

“How’s your job going?” my college roommate who I had not spoken to in about three weeks asked. She lived in Alabama now and was married with her first child. Fitting a phone call in was getting tougher and tougher.

 

“Oh my God! First of all, we both know that I am fly paper for freaks. It’s no secret, I am, and yet again I have attracted another.”

 

“Really?” Her voice was full of fake surprise. She knew me better than anyone so this part of the story came as no real surprise.

 

“Yes, really.” I volleyed the sarcasm back at her. “Well, they hired an assistant for me. A New Yorker. She’s about ten years older than me and fifty pounds heavier. You can imagine her thrill to meet me and learn that she would be the subordinate of someone who appears to be all of eighteen years old.” I was actually 24.

 

“Not thrilled at all I suspect.”

 

“No, not thrilled. I dare say she hates my ass and can I tell you the feeling is mutual?”

 

“Why? What happened?”

 

I replied in exasperation, “If I have heard the cat story once I have heard it a thousand times in the two weeks since they hired her. I can’t get her to do squat for telling every Tom, Dick and Harriet that darkens the office door that she stuck her cat in the dryer and all of the gory details.”

 

“What?!!!” Ally shrieked.

 

“Uh huh, you heard me. Left it in there ten minutes too. And, can’t understand why the cat

hates her and won’t play with her now. Can you imagine?”

 

“Uh, no!”

 

“The story goes that she was washing Simba's blanket. Simba is a fifteen pound tabby.  When she put the blanket in the dryer Simba must have seen her and jumped in after while her back was turned to take more clothes out of the washer.”

 

“Did it live?” Ally sounded as if she had covered her mouth in horror for the poor thing.

 

“It lived. I am telling you, I would not tell a soul if I did that. Not her, she tells absolutely everyone and I can’t get her to stop long enough to train her or get her to do what I need her to do. I am doing all the work and she’s telling the world what a numb nut she is. I don’t know where they found her, but I wish they would put her back.”

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

“You mean, ‘What did you do?’” I corrected her because I had already snapped.

 

“Oh no, what?” Again, Ally knew me so I could tell she was almost sorry to have asked.

 

“First, I tried talking to her about it last week and when that did not work I tried telling the office manager two days ago that I really needed Chrissie, yes that’s her name.  Nothing was done and I kind of lost it yesterday.”

 

“How so?”

 

“One of the realtors that I am friends with came in and Chrissie started the story again. It was one time too many for me so when she got close to the end I butted in. I said, ‘You know I have heard this story a number of times now and there’s something I just don’t understand.’ She got kind of a deer in the headlights look about her and I continued. ‘You live in a small two bedroom apartment and you mean to tell me you could not hear that cat in there for ten minutes. Cats are noisy animals; you’ve heard one in heat before right? They can scream. Plus, you said it was fifteen pounds. I know when I leave change in my pocket or when one of my Keds tennis shoes accidentally gets in there it makes a horrible racket. How did you not hear a fifteen pound, screaming cat in there?  Boom-ba-ba-boom, REEEEOWWWW!!!’ I made that stomping gesture like Marisa Tomey in My Cousin Vinney when her biological clock was ticking. My realtor friend was in stitches laughing.”

 

“No you didn’t!”

 

“Yes I did and I went on. ‘You say you don’t know why it won’t play with you anymore. Well, let me tell you why. It’s paw pads were burned off, so every time it steps it's reminded of the dark burning hole of terror. It’s ears were also burned off, so it can't hear anything beyond its own screams that continuously replay in its mind. And, you said it’s anus was singed shut so every single time it took a crap for the last week it was reminded of you leaving it in the dryer for ten flippin’ minutes. And just in case you are wondering why your other cat, Oliver, wants nothing to do with you, it’s because Simba told him what you did.’”

 

“What happened then?”

 

“Well...she put some kind of sickly-sweet, chocolate milk smelling lotion on my phone this

morning. That’s just not natural and I ended up throwing up all over my desk.”

 

Ally laughed and laughed.  “I guess you should count your blessings that she did not put you in the dryer!”