he was a freak. By the
looks of the apartment—a 1980’s Chucky poster on the wall, several Betty Boop
figurines on a shelf, a boat load of Star Trek Enterprise toys, still in their
packaging, and hand-me-down furniture—I would have to go with freak. But to
each his own.
Several bags of unexpired chips sat in the cupboard of the
weirdo’s apartment, plus some individually packaged cookies and an unopened
bottle of Mountain Dew. Sweet happiness. I saved all of it for later.
Rule number one when searching an apartment, which I learned
the hard way, was never to open the fridge. Horrible, horrible, horrible, such
a big mistake. Nasty things are left to rot and die in there, and after several
months with no electricity, it becomes vomit inducing.
But after searching five apartments, I had the keys to a
Ford vehicle. Not my first choice, but being picky had no place in an
apocalypse. Now, I had to hope the Ford wasn’t lying on its roof.
“You little bugger!”
Callie wiggled in my arms, and as I shoved one of her legs
in the harness, she’d yank out the other. She dug her claws into my thigh and a
string of profanities escaped my lips.
“I’m this close”—I pinched my fingers together and placed
them in front of her nose—”to shoving you back inside the bag. Is that what you
want, huh? Really?”
A dog wouldn’t be this difficult. A dog would love the idea
of a leash. A dog would bathe me in kisses and think I was God. It would look
up at me while it skipped at my side. But cats, arrgh ... they thought they were Gods, which probably stemmed from the Egyptians treating them that way. Damn
Ancient Egyptians.
“You’re an animal! I’m human. If times get tough, I could
eat you, you know?” Okay, that was creepy. “I won’t though, because that would
be weird and you’d probably taste horrible, but come on. This is for your own
good.”
I managed to finagle the pink glittery harness onto Callie’s
stubborn body and attach the leash. Once free from my grasp, she bolted, but as
the leash tightened she came up short. The jolt flipped her onto her side, and
when she righted herself, she gave me an “I will kill you in your sleep” kind
of look.
“It’s for your own good! Get used to it.”
She took a few steps, trying out the strange contraption
attached to her back, and I couldn’t help but giggle at her antics. The harness
weighed only a few ounces, but the way Callie behaved it may as well have
weighed a hundred pounds or more. Each step she took was calculated and
precise, not to mention hilarious.
She tried shaking it off.
She tried turning herself in a circle to get a better look
at it.
After several minutes, she simply fell over on her side and lay
there defeated.
“You’re being dramatic. It’s not that bad.” I scratched her
between the ears. “Think of it this way: not only are you safe, but now you’re
the coolest looking cat around. Very hip.” Most likely, she was the only cat around,
but she didn’t need to know that.
She stared up at me and gave a pitiful meow.
I left her lying there on the floor and proceeded to repack
my bag. It already weighed a ton, but since I had the keys to a Ford, I figured
I might as well pack it. I shoved in a jacket from Marin’s closet, a Beatles’
tee from the apartment on the bottom floor, and a pair of jeans from a girl’s
dresser in the apartment directly above.
People had left a lot of great things behind, so wherever
they went they left in a hurry. No one leaves Doc Martens and Beatles’ tees
behind. No one.
The cut on my arm had stopped bleeding the day before, but ached
whenever I moved my arm. The budding scab, every once in awhile, would snag on
my shirt and remind me of its presence, so I decided to take a look at it since
I’d ignored it since yesterday.
It stung a little but for the most part wasn’t nearly as bad
as I’d first imagined: three inches long, but more a deep scratch than a
full-blown cut.
After using
looks of the apartment—a 1980’s Chucky poster on the wall, several Betty Boop
figurines on a shelf, a boat load of Star Trek Enterprise toys, still in their
packaging, and hand-me-down furniture—I would have to go with freak. But to
each his own.
Several bags of unexpired chips sat in the cupboard of the
weirdo’s apartment, plus some individually packaged cookies and an unopened
bottle of Mountain Dew. Sweet happiness. I saved all of it for later.
Rule number one when searching an apartment, which I learned
the hard way, was never to open the fridge. Horrible, horrible, horrible, such
a big mistake. Nasty things are left to rot and die in there, and after several
months with no electricity, it becomes vomit inducing.
But after searching five apartments, I had the keys to a
Ford vehicle. Not my first choice, but being picky had no place in an
apocalypse. Now, I had to hope the Ford wasn’t lying on its roof.
“You little bugger!”
Callie wiggled in my arms, and as I shoved one of her legs
in the harness, she’d yank out the other. She dug her claws into my thigh and a
string of profanities escaped my lips.
“I’m this close”—I pinched my fingers together and placed
them in front of her nose—”to shoving you back inside the bag. Is that what you
want, huh? Really?”
A dog wouldn’t be this difficult. A dog would love the idea
of a leash. A dog would bathe me in kisses and think I was God. It would look
up at me while it skipped at my side. But cats, arrgh ... they thought they were Gods, which probably stemmed from the Egyptians treating them that way. Damn
Ancient Egyptians.
“You’re an animal! I’m human. If times get tough, I could
eat you, you know?” Okay, that was creepy. “I won’t though, because that would
be weird and you’d probably taste horrible, but come on. This is for your own
good.”
I managed to finagle the pink glittery harness onto Callie’s
stubborn body and attach the leash. Once free from my grasp, she bolted, but as
the leash tightened she came up short. The jolt flipped her onto her side, and
when she righted herself, she gave me an “I will kill you in your sleep” kind
of look.
“It’s for your own good! Get used to it.”
She took a few steps, trying out the strange contraption
attached to her back, and I couldn’t help but giggle at her antics. The harness
weighed only a few ounces, but the way Callie behaved it may as well have
weighed a hundred pounds or more. Each step she took was calculated and
precise, not to mention hilarious.
She tried shaking it off.
She tried turning herself in a circle to get a better look
at it.
After several minutes, she simply fell over on her side and lay
there defeated.
“You’re being dramatic. It’s not that bad.” I scratched her
between the ears. “Think of it this way: not only are you safe, but now you’re
the coolest looking cat around. Very hip.” Most likely, she was the only cat around,
but she didn’t need to know that.
She stared up at me and gave a pitiful meow.
I left her lying there on the floor and proceeded to repack
my bag. It already weighed a ton, but since I had the keys to a Ford, I figured
I might as well pack it. I shoved in a jacket from Marin’s closet, a Beatles’
tee from the apartment on the bottom floor, and a pair of jeans from a girl’s
dresser in the apartment directly above.
People had left a lot of great things behind, so wherever
they went they left in a hurry. No one leaves Doc Martens and Beatles’ tees
behind. No one.
The cut on my arm had stopped bleeding the day before, but ached
whenever I moved my arm. The budding scab, every once in awhile, would snag on
my shirt and remind me of its presence, so I decided to take a look at it since
I’d ignored it since yesterday.
It stung a little but for the most part wasn’t nearly as bad
as I’d first imagined: three inches long, but more a deep scratch than a
full-blown cut.
After using
Similar Books
