Debbie goes out of town - Part 1
- I’ve been in bed all weekend with an illness similar to Olympic Fever--Olympic Meningitis. Unable to leave the apartment, or even crawl to the bathroom to relieve myself when nature calls, the only medicine for this affliction is a blitzkrieg of mindnumbing olympic coverage and the accompanying heartfelt human interest stories. Most people die from Olympic Meningitis. I don’t have health insurance, so I hope I just pull through.
My new roommate Debbie has been away on a business trip for the past few days. Last Thursday, I found a yellow smiley themed piece of sationery stapled to our bunkbed frame reading, “Goin’ to be in Yonkers for a few days on assignment. Feed the cat--catfood. DON’T touch my computer. TTYL”
I haven’t quite figured out what Debbie’s deal is. First of all, her whole body is encased in a full-length burqa. The only exposed part is a small strip for her piercing brown eyes. Second, Debbie won’t tell me where she works. How am I supposed to judge her accordingly if she won’t answer me the most leveraging question of any conversation--“So, what do you do?” All I know is she possibly works for a TV studio and that this TV studio is fine hiring some goofball in a burqa.
A plus about living with someone with a curtain wrapped around them like a soft tortilla is that I’ve been able to trick the neighbors into thinking she’s a ninja. They haven’t fucked with me since she moved in. A big negative is that she casually forgot to mention a mangy cat was boarding with us until the day she rolled up in a U-Haul. Since I blew all the rent money Debbie gave me on motorcycle racing gear--helmets, leather suits, chaps, crotchless pants to go under the chaps--I couldn’t just refund her check because of a stupid cat I would instantly grow to hate. I love those chaps!
The apartment is a little too crowded with me, Debbie, and Oasis--the cat. His litterbox is right next to the bed. Actually, everything in the apartment is right next to the bed because our space is the size of about a dozen pretzel rods placed end to end. We fortunately have one of those robotic litterboxes that senses when the cat shits so the shit doesn’t linger around for too long. Thanks to some ingenuity on my part, I modded the litterbox with a hose connected to the sink so it sprays a dainty burst of water onto the cat’s butt when it’s done smelling up the room. The cat can’t get enough.
Oh, here comes Oasis right now. He must be hungry.
“Hey Oasis. Oh, aren’t you sweet. You like me, huh? I was just kidding earlier, I like you too. You’re a precious cat." I patted the cat on it's head. "I’ll just walk to the other side of the room leaving my Ibook unattended and grab you a fresh can of Fancy Feast.”
I waited for a commercial break of the Olympic coverage and I used my atrophied forelimbs to pull myself over to where we keep the catfood.
“Okay, I’m coming back with your din-din you cutie patootie... Oasis? Oasis! What are you doing! NO!! Get away from that!! OASIS!!!”
Part 2 tomorrow!