Tuxedo By Sami Khalil (The Batty
Cat)
The city skyline gave way to
leafy woods, an enclave of the wealthy in Boston, overshadowed by their
grandiose auras of mansions, crowning the admiration of any visitor and passersby.
Colonial and Greek styles, with massive
Doric, Ionic and Corinthian columns were circled by ornate wrought-iron gates
of late vogue and craze. All European predilections were expressed soulfully. An
astonishing one belonged to a local psychiatrist who was a de-facto definition
of the “populist bizarre.”
Although an expert in the anatomy
of batty behaviors and rueful obituaries, he replenished the curiosity of his
neighbors by advertising daily in needing a cat sitter for his beloved feline. A
procession of people filed in and out of the mansion, failing the test at hand.
“You mean to tell me that the cat
has to decide liking me before I start the job?”, one would say. Others will leave
solemnly in protest over this crazy and worthless endeavor, although losing a handsome
outlay. Some slept fitfully. All have failed in front of Tuxedo, the batty cat,
to click with so to speak after his (cat scan).
With a frightful hiss that
mimicked snakes, he would voice his displeasure, exposing sharp fangs. Grumpy
and feared, no one dared toying with him. They were frozen even in their tracks
by those eerie green eyes, silhouetting a bad omen. All approached him
gingerly, ambling along carefully to no avail, contracting feline fears,
starvingly poor in reason. But there were red flags to raise blood pressures
and shaky hands in no sense of detachment whether passion or purpose.
Finally, a lady named Olga, infused
with pride and no fear, answered the call by a clever approach, bluntly
borrowed from her guiltless conscience, battling this engagement successfully
in the spaces of recent memory, heads scratching, eyes popping. Injuncting the
norm by using her wit and magic, she went to the local animal shelter and found
an exact copy of this cat, bought it, then proceeded in replacing him with a
slight of hand, carrying him miles and miles away to drop that wicked one from atop
Mt. Greylock.
The Doc. gave her the job, advertising
in the local media her story and how she was the only one to do such a marvelous
feat, miraculous to be specific. She enjoyed fame and fortune for her business grew
and flourished among other wealthy callers.
One day the Doc. and his family
came back from a month’s vacation in Switzerland, he found a traumatized cat
outside that looked like his, Turkey wandering, brainlessly grinding his teeth.
He let him in and as soon as he spotted his counterpart being treated like a
king, he ferociously attacked him, killing him instantly. The doctor was
confused for they both looked alike. He buried the dead cat in a pomp and
circumstance ceremony, attended by local politicians. Olga dared not come back
for her life was at stake now. She thought to herself, I should have shot him, burying
him in a fitting Tuxedo.
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
first
prev
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing