stupid. He wouldn’t come out until Paul had left or Dave thought sufficient time had passed for Paul to calm down.
Paul came down the stairs with a scowl on his face and a full squirt bottle in his hand as I finished dishing up dinner.
“I’m tearing out the planters this weekend. The fucker won’t be able to hide so easily then.”
I almost laughed, but the look on Paul’s face said I better not. I remembered what it was like to have your shoes smell like piss.
“How many this time?” I asked instead.
“Three.”
“Shoes or pairs?”
“Pairs.”
“Damn.” That was a lot of pee for a small cat. “What were they doing on the floor anyway? You’re supposed to put them on the shelves. That’s why you had that fancy-ass closet built to begin with.”
So not the right thing to say.
Paul fumed as he paced the kitchen, knocking one of the stools over next to the island bench. It clattered to the floor. “I shouldn’t fucking have to! Your stupid cat should learn not to pee in my goddamn shoes. Why he leaves yours alone, I have no idea.” He paused and ran his fingers through his drying hair. “He has to go. I can’t have him pissing everywhere, and I refuse to buy more shoes. Not to mention the carpet-cleaning bill. We’ll take him to an animal shelter as soon as the little bastard comes out.”
Here’s the thing with me and Dave. I found him on the street when he was a kitten—no home, no family. A lot like myself back then. Unwanted. I was a waiter at the time, and Dave had been abandoned in a dumpster behind the restaurant where I worked. I was just about to throw in a bag of trash at the end of my lunch shift, when I heard his faint, strangled meow. It was a cry for help I recognized. I uncovered him from the rubbish that had been dumped on him, and he looked at me with big green eyes and a mouth that opened and shut with no sound. I swear he said
please help me.
I remember feeling just like he looked when I was ousted from my family home with nowhere to go and no one to ask for help. I had been as abandoned as he was.
The small kitten mewled and tried to climb away from the stench, but a frayed cord from a discarded child’s backpack was wrapped around his back leg, and his claws couldn’t get any purchase against the metal sides of the dumpster. His mousy brown fur was matted with filth and grease. I dropped my trash into another dumpster and pulled the little guy out. He was all skin and bones, and I could feel his heart beating against my palm as I cradled him against my chest. I untied the cord from his back leg and saw the nametag of the child who had once owned the bag.
Dave.
After running my hands over his tiny head and body to make sure he was uninjured, I placed Dave back in the dumpster and closed the lid, promising to be back in five minutes. It was the end of my shift at the restaurant, and as I left the kitchen I snatched some extra chicken before I grabbed my bag and said goodbye to my co-workers.
I took Dave home with me that afternoon. I bathed him, which really wasn’t much fun for either of us. Even as a tiny, starving kitten, Dave’s sharp teeth and claws could sink into soft flesh quite easily, but afterward I think he was happy to be clean as he lifted his hind leg in the air and lapped at his teeny balls. I was a little bloody and scratched up, but it was worth it to see him clean and licking himself, a soft purr starting in his puny chest. I fed him bits of the meat I’d pilfered from work and let him sleep on my bed.
We hadn’t been apart since, so when Paul said he was taking Dave to a shelter, to
abandon
him, I was furious.
I slammed the cutlery on the counter, making Paul jump and turn from the end of the kitchen where he’d been pacing. Metal against granite can be quite loud if you put enough force behind it. “
We
will do no such thing! If you want him gone, then you’ll have to say goodbye to me too.”
Would I have actually chosen Dave over Paul?
Paul came down the stairs with a scowl on his face and a full squirt bottle in his hand as I finished dishing up dinner.
“I’m tearing out the planters this weekend. The fucker won’t be able to hide so easily then.”
I almost laughed, but the look on Paul’s face said I better not. I remembered what it was like to have your shoes smell like piss.
“How many this time?” I asked instead.
“Three.”
“Shoes or pairs?”
“Pairs.”
“Damn.” That was a lot of pee for a small cat. “What were they doing on the floor anyway? You’re supposed to put them on the shelves. That’s why you had that fancy-ass closet built to begin with.”
So not the right thing to say.
Paul fumed as he paced the kitchen, knocking one of the stools over next to the island bench. It clattered to the floor. “I shouldn’t fucking have to! Your stupid cat should learn not to pee in my goddamn shoes. Why he leaves yours alone, I have no idea.” He paused and ran his fingers through his drying hair. “He has to go. I can’t have him pissing everywhere, and I refuse to buy more shoes. Not to mention the carpet-cleaning bill. We’ll take him to an animal shelter as soon as the little bastard comes out.”
Here’s the thing with me and Dave. I found him on the street when he was a kitten—no home, no family. A lot like myself back then. Unwanted. I was a waiter at the time, and Dave had been abandoned in a dumpster behind the restaurant where I worked. I was just about to throw in a bag of trash at the end of my lunch shift, when I heard his faint, strangled meow. It was a cry for help I recognized. I uncovered him from the rubbish that had been dumped on him, and he looked at me with big green eyes and a mouth that opened and shut with no sound. I swear he said
please help me.
I remember feeling just like he looked when I was ousted from my family home with nowhere to go and no one to ask for help. I had been as abandoned as he was.
The small kitten mewled and tried to climb away from the stench, but a frayed cord from a discarded child’s backpack was wrapped around his back leg, and his claws couldn’t get any purchase against the metal sides of the dumpster. His mousy brown fur was matted with filth and grease. I dropped my trash into another dumpster and pulled the little guy out. He was all skin and bones, and I could feel his heart beating against my palm as I cradled him against my chest. I untied the cord from his back leg and saw the nametag of the child who had once owned the bag.
Dave.
After running my hands over his tiny head and body to make sure he was uninjured, I placed Dave back in the dumpster and closed the lid, promising to be back in five minutes. It was the end of my shift at the restaurant, and as I left the kitchen I snatched some extra chicken before I grabbed my bag and said goodbye to my co-workers.
I took Dave home with me that afternoon. I bathed him, which really wasn’t much fun for either of us. Even as a tiny, starving kitten, Dave’s sharp teeth and claws could sink into soft flesh quite easily, but afterward I think he was happy to be clean as he lifted his hind leg in the air and lapped at his teeny balls. I was a little bloody and scratched up, but it was worth it to see him clean and licking himself, a soft purr starting in his puny chest. I fed him bits of the meat I’d pilfered from work and let him sleep on my bed.
We hadn’t been apart since, so when Paul said he was taking Dave to a shelter, to
abandon
him, I was furious.
I slammed the cutlery on the counter, making Paul jump and turn from the end of the kitchen where he’d been pacing. Metal against granite can be quite loud if you put enough force behind it. “
We
will do no such thing! If you want him gone, then you’ll have to say goodbye to me too.”
Would I have actually chosen Dave over Paul?
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