Page 2 of Clay
Is this some strange candid camera moment, I wonder, slamming my palm to my forehead and taking a deep breath.
“Who is this?” I ask.
“Well,” the woman says, “I don’t rightly see how that’s any of your business.”
“But you’re the one who phoned me.”
“And now I’m regretting it!” The woman barks back.
An elderly man’s voice takes over, “Hello!” he says. “Who is this! If this is another one of them cold callers again, I’ll tell you for the last time, I don’t need any goddamn viagra. It was a mistake, alright.
"I don’t know how you got my number. It was probably some young whippersnappers playing a prank… that’s right… them whippersnappers, always playing pranks like that, they are… and I can tell you right now... I don’t have any trouble in that department.. no sir… you ask my wife.
"I’m like a goddamn telegraph pole. Three times a day... sometimes more. Here,” he says, “let me pass you back… she’ll tell you, if you don’t believe me!”
“I’m not a cold caller!” I yell down the phone.
“I know that!” the woman shouts, “you’re the lady whose cat is stuck up my tree!”
I bolt up off the couch like a person who's just realized they sat on a wasp nest. “Wait!” I all but scream down the phone. “You’ve found Captain Fluffington?”
“Found?” the woman sneers, “he’s been stuck up that tree meowing away all morning. I’m trying to listen to the radio and all I can hear is that racket outside. You get yourself over here right now, and get him down... or I’m calling the police!”
I write down her address on the back of my hand and tell her I’ll be right over.
Looking in the mirror, I play with the idea of running into my bedroom and putting on some real clothes. But decide against it.
Who cares if my hair’s a mess? So what if my pj’s have food stains all down them? All that matters is Captain Fluffington.
“Kate,” I say, switching back to our conversation, tears in my voice, “they’ve found him! They’ve found Captain Fluffington! He’s alive!”
2
Fifteen years of being a fireman and this is the first time I’ve actually had to rescue a cat stuck up a tree.
I feel like a total jerk. Making cute little noises at the poor thing while a ton of people watch me work.
“Have you got it yet?” The elderly lady who called shouts up to me for about the thirtieth time.
“Not yet, ma’am,” I manage between gritted teeth.
“Well,” she screeches back. “What’s the hold-up! It’s only a cat. Just grab ahold of the wretched thing and get it out of my tree! I’ve got TV to watch. My program's starting soon, and the casserole's burning.”
I refrain from telling her exactly where she can stick her casserole. And god knows why she can’t go inside and leave me in peace.
It’s bad enough every time I reach forward the stupid cat lets out a hiss and tries to claw my eyes out. I don’t need some vicious-tongued witch haranguing me at the same time.
I’m half tempted to just grab the cat and chuck it on the old lady. See what happens.
But my professionalism gets the better of me, and I go back to rubbing my fingers and cooing at the fickle feline. Doing my best to reassure it that I’m only here to help and it has nothing to worry about.
“Here, kitty kitty,” I say, in a voice I’ve only ever used to talk to my daughter... and that was years ago when she was still a baby. “Come to Clay. Nothing to be scared about. I’ve got you.”
Slowly, I put out my hand, letting it sniff my fingers.
Behind me, a car screeching to a halt. “Captain Fluffington!!!” someone screams.
The cat looks to the source of the noise and immediately leaps out of the tree. Darting its way through the crowd of onlookers and literally jumping into the arms of a curvy, brunette woman.
