I was in my study when the cat was on the roof, and then, all of the sudden it wasn't. From my window I couldn't see where it had gone so I went downstairs and outside. The front lawn was a mess because of the new path my wife was making me build out of cement and colored glass, because she thought that would look nice. It may have, except now the cat had landed right in the middle of it. To be honest I never really liked the idea anyway
I cannot really describe the mess itself, but the poor thing was buried in cement up to its ankles crying. Every time I tried to grab the cat it pulled away and hissed like some kind of fuzzy viper. After a few minutes I stopped trying all together, and just watched the poor thing squirm for a moment. It halted its cries to look up at me in desperation. I knew I had to do something before the cement dried.
I thought of my choices. I could get some rope and try to lasso the thing out. I could spray the sad creature down with a hose and hope that it loosens up the cement. I went through the check list of things that wouldn't make more of a mess, then I already had to deal with. She hates any kind of mess, my wife, and everything is always my fault.
I looked at my watch and then at the sky, and knew I was running out of time, the cat would be permanently stuck soon. I thought to myself, fuck it, why not just throw a jacket over the thing and pick it up. The worst thing that could happen is it may bite me a little and scratch me slightly. Then again maybe it would be great-full for what I had done. In the middle of my thoughts I hear a car door slam, she is back.
For the next sixty seconds I was bombarded with a line of questioning that would have put any detective to shame. Then when I failed to explain what had happened in the two second window I was given, I was verbally assaulted about how stupid I was. . . Finally I had heard enough.
I didn't know what to say to her, so instead I walked inside. I gathered up the things I wanted, none of her pictures, or crystal, or silverware, or fine art. I packed just a few things that were important to me and some clothes, all the time ignoring her babble about the cat. I picked up a note pad and jotted down a note that said, "You’re an annoying bitch, and I am not coming back, the cat is your problem."
For some reason her frustration excited me, I found it funny. She was like a spider trapped inside glass. I tuned out her bullshit for the last time, as I walked out of her house. I know that she followed me down the steps through the yard, screaming, I said goodbye without looking at her, and climbed into my car. As I closed my door I thought I heard a thud, and looked to see her collapsed and sunk into the almost dry cement. But I was done you see, with her, with her world.
I suppose that is why I am here officer, but I swear, she must have slipped....
I'm sure that is hard to believe, but it is the truth.
Is the cat okay?
