Going Down With The Ship

The cat, the one my girlfriend Jill bought a month before we met, the one that slept in my bed, the one that always seemed to squeeze between us on the couch, the one that always seemed to be the one Jill said hello to first when she walked in, the one that got the last kiss before she left the house, was sitting by the sink staring out of the window, feeling bad for himself that he had two broken paws. Although I hated him, I did feel bad that he was injured. But, not that bad. To show Jill that I wasn’t a total jerk, I would move the cat around the house during the day to different spots, to change up the scenery for him. I was sitting at the kitchen table sipping tepid coffee and thinking about the title for my next chapter when I saw the cat lift his head and shift in place. When I looked past him out the window I could see flashing lights. I needed to re-fill my coffee mug so I stood up to see what was going on and much to my surprise, Sherriff Barton was walking towards my house, a grim look on his face. Behind him about fifty paces was a skinny man wearing a hard-hat and wire rim glasses, referring to a clipboard and squinting as he looked around.
I walked through the house to the front door and opened it as Sherriff Barton walked up the porch steps. “Good morning, Sherriff,” I attempted to sound cheery as the rotund man puffed and adjusted his gun belt after walking up three steps. I could see a bead of sweat forming where his big brimmed hat met his hairline. “Mornin’ John. Sorry to bother you so early in the day, but we have a situation we just learned about, and I’m ‘fraid it’s bad news,” My first thought was Jill. The Sherriff must have sensed my concern before I spoke, and assured me that Jill was okay, and that in fact he had just left the coffee shop, and she was baking a fresh batch of donuts.
Sherriff Barton asked me to step out of the house so I could see what he was talking about, that it would be easier than trying to explain it to me. I followed him to his cruiser where the skinny man with the clipboard was busy working a calculator and scribbling notes. The man, Bigsby, offered me a limp handshake, and nodded at me, but was satisfied to have the Sherriff speak for him. Barton cleared his throat, “Seems like you’re house, and the one across the way there, are built on a sink hole, and it’s getting worse by the minute. You can’t see it from here, but the front yard of that house is gone. Fell in overnight, taking Bob’s new pick-up truck, kids’ toys, and the porch. That house there is teetering like a drunk after happy hour. We had to evacuate them from the back door. Bigsby here thinks the house will go down any time now, and that the hole is going to take yours next,” The burly Sherriff was waiting for me to respond, but all I could do was stare at his giant black mustache that obscured his upper lip and blink. The only words that came to my mouth were holy and shit.
My mind began to race. What should I grab, what would Jill be most upset about losing, where would we live, did I pay my insurance, did insurance even cover any of this? I felt the coffee and stale donuts Jill brought home from work each night drop to the bottom of my stomach. My silence must have made the Sherriff uncomfortable so he spoke up and told me that it was imperative that I get anything valuable, sentimental, and some clothes and things we would need to get by for a few days. He told me that his Deputy was bringing Jill back to the house. I wondered why he didn’t just drive Jill back with him. Again, the Sherriff read my mind and said he didn’t want to frighten her. I think he was more concerned about a batch of Jill’s award winning donuts.
I ran into the house and began to throw things in piles. I grabbed my laptop, the sixty dollars in the can on the fridge, pictures of me and Jill from our vacation to the Caribbean, and some sweatshirts. The cat watched me with great concern. As I ran across the house to the steps I heard a loud creaking noise. I ignored it and grabbed whatever toiletries and clothes I could fit in a duffel bag and again felt the house shake. I could hear the Sherriff yelling, but I couldn’t hear the words. While I was running down the stairs the house shifted and I stumbled down the last three steps, smashing my head on the banister. Bleeding, I leapt up and grabbed the pile of stuff I left in the kitchen. When I ran out of the house I turned around, I realized I left the cat and the car keys on the counter.
The house began to lilt forward towards the sink hole that would swallow it and us if we didn’t begin to run. Jill ran to me, she was crying, she looked at the blood pouring from my head, and asked me where the cat was. As we back peddled away and watched the house, our belongings, my extensive comic book collection, all slide into the hole, I explained that someone had to go down with the ship. As she handed the bag of donuts she was clutching to the Sherriff, she said it should have been me. The Sherriff laughed, asked me if I needed a ride and handed me a glazed donut.

Word Count: 990