Strays

Jack walked through the door into Jim's
apartment and promptly raised his eyebrows.
"I think you misunderstood when I said you
needed to get some pussy, Jim."
The cats were everywhere. A black one sat
on the arm of the sofa, two more, orange and
white, on the cushions. A fourth cat lounged
on top the television, it's tail swishing across
the glassy face of Barbara Walters. The last
six were in a shallow box in the kitchen, a
calico mother and her five kittens.
Jim tossed his policeman's cap onto the
counter then plucked a couple bottles from
inside the fridge. "Cats aren't as tormenting as
women and they are a lot cheaper."
"But why so many? It's like a humane
society in here."
"I find strays and I feel sorry for them so I
take them in," he answered between swigs.
Jack threw back his Bud Light then slid his
arm across his lips. "I know some strays on
sixth street that can rub against your leg in a
far more satisfactory way and they won't cost
you more than you're willing to pay."
The phone rang, but Jim checked his caller
ID before answering. It was his ex-wife, Gloria.
Jim let the phone ring until the answering
machine clicked on.
"I know you're home," Her voice was like a
fork to a chalkboard. A very slow fork. She was
drunk again. "Pick up the phone. Pick it up!"
she waited a few seconds. "Damnit, Jim. This
is the third time the check has been late. If it
happens again I'm calling my lawyer."
She must have slammed the phone down
pretty hard. Jim was sure his own phone
jumped at the click.
Jim shooed the cats off the couch and
pushed the shoes off his feet. "Cats don't get
mad at the child support check being a day
late. They don't take you on a guilt trip when
you forget your grandmother's funeral. And
cats certainly don't cheat on you."
Jack joined his partner on the couch.
"Women, can't live with them, can't shoot them
and get away with it."
"Amen to that!"

Jim had the next day off work and he
planned to spend every waking hour of it doing
absolutely nothing. He was going to sleep
until he woke up and not get dressed until
bedtime. His plans were thwarted by the
ringing of the phone. Since it caught him off
guard, he forgot to check the caller ID. He
answered and Gloria screeched back.
"Where the hell is the check?"
"Jesus, it's eight-thirty, Gloria, go back to
bed."
"Some of us have kids to take to school and
jobs to go to in the morning."
Jim sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I sent the
check two days ago."
"It should have been here yesterday. This is
the third time, Jim. If it happens again I'm
calling my lawyer."
Another nuclear slam of the phone and Jim
was awake for the rest of the day. He
stumbled into the shower and back out again
when he was clean. The search through the
closet proved to be useless so he dove into
the piles of clothes on the floor and unearthed
something that didn't smell too bad.
He would have to do laundry today. He
hated doing laundry. That was the only thing
he missed about Gloria. She loved doing
laundry. She would search the house for dirty
clothes just so she could run the washing
machine. Jim couldn't figure out the obession.
Just as Jim was sitting down to a plate of
scrambled eggs, which he had eagerly
prepared, there was a knock at the door. He
checked the peep hole. It was his mother.
"I know you're home, Jimmy, open up."
Jim's mother's voice was even worse than
Gloria's. He couldn't divorce this voice. It
hacked through the door and practically turned
the lock for him. She pushed her large frame
past him and into the apartment, a bag of
groceries in her arms.
"What the hell are you doing with all these
cats? It's like a humane society in here."
She sat the grocery bag down on the table,
hitting the edge of Jim's plate sending his
breakfast to the floor.
Jim hadn't moved from his spot by the door.
He looked down at his eggs. The cats had
begun to wander over to see what treasures
had fallen from the sky. He had been looking
forward to eating those eggs. "Mom, why are
you here?"
She turned. "A mother can't visit her son?
Honestly, Jimmy, I don't know why you hate
me so much. I raised you the best I could;
never deprived you of anything you wanted and
this is the thanks I get?"
Jim opened his mouth.
"I come all the way over here, braving the
morning traffic," she sniffed, pulling a Kleenex
from her housecoat pocket. "I'll just go, Jimmy.
I'd hate to be a bother." She hauled her body
to
the door and started to walk out, but turned
before leaving. "Just don't forget about my
funeral, okay, Jimmy?"
Jim shut the door.
"Will no one ever let me forget that?!"

Jim hated Madonna. He hated Madonna
almost as much as he hated doing laundry.
Wouldn't you know it as soon as he turned the
water on his first load of clothes, the radio
station announced a Madonnathon. Three
hours of uninterrupted music by the "material
girl".
"Please, dear God, let my laundry be done
before this commercial," he begged, pulling
his hands down through his hair.
Someone laughed. A female someone. "Do
you hate Madonna too?"
He didn't look up. He wasn't about to get into
any kind of relationship with a women even if it
was just a conversation at a laundry mat. He
didn't have the energy.
"Madonna should be tarred, feathered and
burned at the stake."
She laughed again. It was a rather nice
laugh. He thought about looking over at the
mystery woman just to see what she looked
like, but put the idea in the garbage. Instead,
he closed his eyes and leaned his head on
the washing machine behind him. This one
was in the spin cycle. It rattled his head gently,
jiggling the inside of his ears.
"I think I know why Gloria liked doing laundry
so much now."
Again, she laughed. Why did she have to
laugh like that?
"Who's Gloria? Your wife?"
"Ex-wife."
What the hell? Just one look couldn't do too
much damage. Jim opened his eyes and
turned his head. He almost did a double take.
She was wearing a shirt identical to his, which
was ridiculous. It was black with a neon
green dinosaur over lemon yellow lettering
that read "dinosaur cook out". Jim didn't even
know where he got the shirt or if it was even
his.
She smiled. She just had to smile. "Nice
shirt."
"I just pulled whatever was clean out of the
drawer."
he laughed, again! "Not me. I wore this to
bed." She grinned. Grinned! "Oh no, not "Like
A Virgin". Please not this song!"
Jim laughed. He couldn't help it. Whoever
this woman was, she was amazing. Her
laugh, her smile, those hazel eyes that drilled
tiny holes in his pupils. Jim was sure she
could see right into his mind.
"I'm Kat," she said. "Actually, Kathrine, but I
hate it so I make everyone call me "Kat". How
about you?"
Her hair was the exact color of a vanilla cake
fresh from the oven. Jim could smell the
peaches from her shampoo. Or maybe it was
from her hand lotion. Maybe it was just her.
He woke up from his trance when Kat
waved her hand in front of his face. She was,
of course, smiling.
"Your name, sir?"
Now she was teasing him? She couldn't be.
Women only tease men when they think are
attractive. Jim wasn't terrible to look at, not at
all, but this woman could not be flirting with
him. She looked all of eighteen. Way too
young for Jim. No eighteen year old would
want a thirty year old divorced guy.
"I'm Jim. Jim Paige. James, but people call
me Jim."
This time she laughed so hard she started
coughing. God, he sounded like an idiot. He
sounded like a thirteen year old at a school
dance.
"I'm sorry, but it's not every day that I meet
Jimmy Paige."
Led Zepplin? This woman liked Led
Zepplin. He asked her if she liked Led
Zepplin. She couldn't. She just couldn't. She
was too young.
"Hell yeah I like Led Zepplin. One day I
played Ramble On for two hours straight."
Yes, Jim was now in love.

A Kat picked up Jim today and took him to
her apartment. She couldn't help it. She felt
sorry for strays.